The odds were never in my favour
by Antony444
Summary: Ten years of life at the Dursleys have healed Alexandra Potter of any good feelings she might have towards her aunt, uncle and cousin, leaving her friendless and sarcastic about life. On her eleventh birthday, a letter sent by a school of magic may give her a providential escape. Except, of course, things may not be that simple for a girl fan of the Lord of the Rings...
1. The odds were never in my favour

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter world, including the names of the characters. All of those belong to J.K Rowling.

 **Warning:** This story is rated M for a reason. The more we advance in the plot, the more there will be adult themes present and explored. Even in the first part of the story, there will be violence, death and blood.

This is an AU story of the Harry Potter world. As such, it has some major changes from the books and the movies. It starts from the name of the main character and her importance in the Wizarding world.

 **Note** : This chapter was corrected and modified by MasterQwertster, who graciously accepted to serve as my beta. Don't hesitate to thank her!

 **Chapter 1**

 **The odds were never in my favour**

 **1 June 1991, Unknown place**

'Gigantic' or 'impossibly large' were words which perfectly applied to this throne room.

If modern architects had been able to estimate its size, they would have found its volume vastly larger than the within palace of famous royal residences built by kings and emperors in centuries pasts. The pillars and columns which supported the colossal and decorated ceiling were pure marble. The floor was covered in costly and rare carpets. Priceless and innumerable paintings and tapestries adorned the endless walls. At the very extremity of this very large hall, a colossal throne, glittering with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds and other rare precious stones was standing. The stairs leading to it were made of polished silver, while the majestic seat was shining in onyx and gold. As a whole, if this symbol of power should ever be melted, the sheer price of the metals composing it would be enough to erase the debts of several small-sized nations. The price after counting the invaluable jewels and the decorations around it would be much higher. The statues, ornaments, candelabras, and other objects placed at regular intervals would surely add hundreds of millions to this stunning and colossal fortune.

All of this opulence and pomp seemed to be lost on the current occupants, however. Twelve individuals were standing in front of the throne. Wrapped in long and flowing robes of multicoloured silks and masks to conceal their identities, their long and elaborate clothes were not enough to conceal their anxiety. Not a sound could be heard in the gigantic throne room, as all those present waited anxiously for their master on the throne to speak.

"I sometimes wonder," said the being sitting on the throne in a calm, contemplative voice, "who among you is the least competent."

Like his followers, nothing allowed any clue about who or what was speaking. Unlike the beings in front of him, however, the difficulty didn't come from any mask he wore. A mass of darkness was extruded from his body, safeguarding his identity more so than any ordinary mask could. From the darkness, the voice rose a bit in what an unbiased observer would have qualified as amusement.

"The competition is so fierce I can hardly make up my mind."

The twelve individuals in front of him, even with their robes masking their facial reactions, shivered in unease.

"To be fair, your Majesty," began the violet robe one of the twelve, "None of our plans are in jeopardy. The theft of a Philosopher Stone is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. None of our really critical operations are in danger of being discovered."

"Interesting opinion, Knight Alchemist." replied the dark figure on the throne in an icy tone. "And indeed one we believe accurate. Otherwise, you would have been already removed for such a display of incompetence, of course."

None of the figures facing the throne were stupid enough to miss the threat in these words.

"Do we know how they managed to bypass the protections of the Brise-Roc citadel?" asked the individual standing on the right side of the throne. As the dark being on the seat was coated in a mass of darkness, this one was covered a more subtle dark grey cloud with a feminine voice.

"We have some clues, My Queen." admitted the Knight Alchemist. "Unfortunately, the goblins we hired to defend the fortress were a bit too zealous in their duty. The only prisoner we took from the assaulting force died three hours ago without one member of our Order being able to interrogate him." A movement of his large robe translated the equivalent of a roll of shoulders. "As it is beyond even my powers to interrogate a corpse, all I could do was identify the man we caught. His name was Markus Treneier... and he was on our lists as a known German sympathiser of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Wonderful!" growled a being hidden by orange robes. "So your assurances that everything is fine are worth nothing! Albus Dumbledore is behind this assault and you know it!"

"I didn't say..." replied the violet robe in an angry voice.

"Enough." The cold and shivering voice coming from the throne stopped the argument instantly.

"The involvement of our dear Grand Sorcerer," this time the sarcasm was impossible to miss, "makes no difference in our projects. The theft of one Philosopher Stone will in no way upset significantly our long-term plans."

"However," the darkness-shrouded king continued after a moment of silence. "I do not intend to give the Defeater of Grindelwald the chance to find the means to use a Philosopher Stone against us. Knight Alchemist, you will send a Pawn to recover it, or if it is not possible, destroy the stolen artefact."

"Yes, your Majesty," said the being wearing violet, bowing ceremoniously and racing towards the end of the room in what could have been accurately described as fleeing.

"Knight Summoner."

"Yes, your Majesty?" said one of the eleven beings remaining in front of the throne, this one wearing a red robe.

"While the citadel of Brise-Roc was valuable for storing our least valuable heirlooms and experiments, continuing to use it right now is too risky. Empty vaults one to fifteen. Leave the rest and prepare traps should our mysterious raiders come back for a second assault."

"As you wish, your Majesty. And the goblins?"

"They failed in their primary task. They are expendable. Use them as bait." Was the sinister answer.

The calm came back to the throne room, all the participants except the entity on the throne leaving.

As they began to walk out of the hall, a menacing whisper sounded behind them.

"No one opposes the Exchequer and lives."

* * *

 **23 June 1991, 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey**

Alexandra Victoria Potter looked around her small bedroom, contemplating powerlessly the devastation that had been brought upon the few things she owned. Apparently, having escaped after the disaster of the zoo had been one of her brighter ideas. She might not have survived the beating Vernon Dursley would have given her. Better to go steal some food and different things around Little Whinging, and then come back when Vernon and the rest of the Dursley family were asleep and (hopefully) calmed. She had no wish to endure the belt beatings again.

To say Alexandra hated her uncle, aunt and cousin with passion would have been a gross understatement. She had been under their roof for ten years, and so far it had been ten miserable, bloody years, with what her trying to survive the trials of living with such loathsome beings seemed to imply. At five years old, her uncle had begun to leave her in a cupboard for uninterrupted weeks without any food, leaving her no choice: she had had to find the means to escape or die. Stealing from the purse of Vernon Dursley had been one of her first illegal actions. But as she was forced to withdraw only small sums not to attract the attention of her uncle and aunt, Alexandra had started stealing from the families of the children tormenting her in Little Whinging, before robbing some of their homes. It was poetic justice in her opinion. They were stealing her happiness. The raven-haired girl would steal their material possessions.

But the Dursleys had not stopped there. When she had been seven, her cousin Dudley had tried to drown her in a swimming pool. At nine, her uncle had given her such a beating it was a miracle she was even alive. In fact, on both occasions her memories of the aftermath were fuzzy and vague. But the deep look of loathing her relatives had sent her months after were proof the events had definitely happened.

When she had been younger, she had dreamed of some unknown relative coming and taking her away, but it had never happened. For some sad and unfair reason, the Dursleys were the only persons she had blood ties with, Aunt Petunia being the only sister of her mother. Sometimes, she wondered how her maternal grandparents had done such a bad job in educating their daughter.

Alexandra had never been treated as part of this family for as long as she remembered. In the first five years she had spent there, she had been more often called "freak" than her name. Before she managed to get them into trouble for Dudley's eighth birthday, she had been sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs. She was never in any photograph inside the house. Neither were her parents for that matter. She was constantly forced to do dozens of chores to deserve any food or right to use the bathroom. She had never received any presents from them. Everything she was given was Dudley's old things. The room she was in was a prime example of this: small, with an even smaller bed and an old armoire, it had been and was still used by Dudley to store all his toys and junk which were still unbroken but that her cousin wanted to keep for some reason or another. That Alexandra slept in said room was absolutely of no importance.

Given that today had been Dudley's birthday, she supposed it was not surprising to find some already broken toys. If she remembered right, Dudley had received thirty-nine presents today. Thirty-nine. Including a brand-new computer, a second television, a video-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, a racing bike, and a multitude of other things she thought Dudley would break at the earliest opportunity. Assuming he even used some of them once; she was particularly dubious concerning the matter of the racing bike, for example.

Not that her cousin's intelligence had ever impressed her. From the start of his scholarship at Saint Gregory's primary school, Dudley had never managed to beat her once in class, and she had decided long ago that it would never happen. Completely out of the question to lower her mark to her cousin's level (which was, if someone asked her opinion, dreadful). She had paid for it, of course. The first time she brought home a school report, she had been beaten to dare having better marks than the precious "Diddykins". As if something more intelligent than a pigeon could not do better than her fat cousin.

The only refuge she had at school was the library, where a bully like Dudley never set a foot in (or only under a teacher's order). It had been her only refuge, which had given her the opportunity to read dozens of books, including the _Lord of the Rings_ by Tolkien. A world of elves, dwarves, humans and hobbits had become one of her best hobbies to escape this dreadful reality for an hour or two. Tolkien had become her favourite author, although she had also liked learning quotes from several politicians of the past to take courage from (and find a good retort to enrage Vernon). It was all she had left, after all.

Because in the rest of the school, Dudley and his friends Malcolm, Piers, Dennis and Gordon were quite content to terrorize the children who had the temerity to cross their paths. Headmistress Roemmelle was a friend of Uncle Vernon, and as a result, order was never quickly restored when the guilty party was Dudley and his band. This band of bullies had often wanted to use her as a punching bag; unfortunately for them and fortunately for her, she was in a much better physical condition than them, not passing her evenings in a couch eating hamburgers, chips and other junk food. She had also practised jogging twice a week which had (mostly) ended their attempts at their Alexandra-hunting games by the time she was ten years old. Though the Dursleys had not become nicer.

Sighing, she turned to see her reflection in the mirror. Thin, of average height for her ten years old and eleven months, she had long black hair, a pale complexion and bright-green eyes. She did not know which of her parents had given her these traits, but it was the eyes she preferred. By contrast, her hair had a tendency to be unruly and difficult to tame. Alas, Alexandra had not the money to buy hair products. She had only to look at her clothes to know she had far more urgent monetary needs to solve.

With her uncle and aunt only giving her Dudley's old clothes, the only things which could be qualified as average in her personal wardrobe were the things she stole, or the things she bought with the money she had stolen from her so-called family. So were the sheets and the pillow on her bed. So was the money dissimulated under a secret compartment under her bed. She didn't like breaking the law, no matter the daily shouts of her uncle that she was soon going to be sent to some centre of correction for young criminals or another (not that he had any proof of her illegal activities). But with her uncle intent on starving her before her eleventh birthday, stealing was not a choice for her. It was a matter of survival.

Alexandra's only advantage in this fight for her life was that her uncle had no clue how much his ideas about her "freakishness" were in fact not a product of his ugly imagination but well-anchored in reality. So far, she had managed to make some objects levitate, change the colour of her hair, change the colour of her eyes, change the colour of someone else's hair, and teleport herself to the other side of the town.

The last power had been very useful in forging herself quite solid alibis when she was under suspicion for having stolen something or some mischief that befell Dudley Dursley and his band of brutes. Too bad Uncle Vernon never believed her. And because his job was director of Grunnings, a drill manufacturing company, he had enough leeway and influence in Little Whinging to make sure no one would believe her. When it wasn't enough, the Dursley family wasn't above bribing those who didn't believe them.

Like today. Usually, the day of June 23rd was one of the nicest days of her life, as the Dursley always went out with their spoiled son to a park or another attraction while leaving Alexandra in the care of a batty neighbour named Mrs Figg. As the woman was obsessed with her menagerie of cats, it was not hard to avoid her vigilance and escape, which meant this day was a free day where she didn't need to run to escape Dudley's gang and Vernon's beatings.

This illusion of a happy day had lasted until the phone call from a disgruntled Mrs Figg, who had seemingly broken her leg (no doubt marching on one of her numerous cats). Just after that, Dudley had proven how spoiled he was by almost toppling the table because he had ONLY thirty-six presents (he had had thirty-eight last year). Only the promise of three more gifts had been enough to calm him. As a consequence of this unfortunate development, she had been forced to accompany her cousin and his brute of a friend Piers Polkiss to the zoo. She had been forced to hear all the complaints her uncle made about how life was unjust to him (a fact she found extremely pleasant to believe in) criticizing people at work, the neighbours, the banks, the world in general, and of course, Alexandra herself. In these circumstances, it was best to be silent and try to forget the presence of the man altogether.

Once they arrived at the zoo, it had been Dudley's moment to shine, so to speak. Each time Dudley saw someone who had a bigger ice cream than him, a new ice cream had to be bought. Each time a new animal refused to do what Dudley thought "interesting", her cousin threw a tantrum. By lunch, she had a monumental headache, and she could not even go her own way in the crowd: she was under no illusion that the Dursleys would "forget" her at the exit if she was not with them. The reptile house had not helped. Dudley had whined "Move! Move!" to the snakes and lizards present there. Of course the snakes had refused to cooperate. Two hours later she snapped. While Piers was busy throwing rocks at a hippopotamus, Dudley thought the moment well-chosen to explain how her dead mother was like the animals in question.

Her rage had been so consuming in that instant that she had not controlled her abilities. One moment after his last insult, Dudley fell inexplicably and quite violently into the hippopotamus's pool. The Dursleys and the veterinary they were speaking with had stared half a minute open-mouthed. Too bad she hadn't had a camera with her. Too bad, also, that the reputation of the hippopotamus was way overrated.

The aforementioned animals had not even intervened against Dudley's intrusion in their pool. The biggest danger for her cousin had come from his awful performance in swimming. After that, she had fled as if Sauron's Nazguls had been in pursuit. Vernon's face had been a nice shade of purple and he was shouting almost incoherent insults into his moustache.

Alexandra wasn't stupid enough to stay in Vernon's presence when he was on a warpath like that. She had been forced to walk hours to go back home as she was too far to use teleportation with precision, but that was okay as she had the time to steal herself some food at the zoo before marching back to the Dursley's house. Taking the car would have been quicker, but would have also sent her into a cupboard with no sustenance until she managed to get out. Depending on Vernon and Petunia's vigilance, that could take days.

Falling onto her bed after sweeping off the junk Dudley had thrown upon it, Alexandra closed her eyes, trying to cheer herself that she had a little more than five years before leaving this hellish prison. In the meantime, she would continue to imagine all the dreadful accidents which would befall her "family" when she could finally leave.

* * *

 **28 July 1991, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England**

After Dudley's epic swim in the zoo's pool, life returned to normal quickly in Little Whinging. Apart from the fact that the words hippo, zoo and pool were now forbidden in the household, the Dursley family returned to its disgusting habits. The summer holidays started, and Dudley proceeded to destroy, explode, annihilate or damage the quasi-totality of the things he had received upon his birthday. The new cine-camera had been torn apart by one of Mrs Figg's enraged cats, the remote-control aeroplane crashed on a neighbour's roof, and the racing bike was literally pulverised trying to ram the car of Headmistress Roemmelle (Dudley narrowly avoided being escorted to the police station on this one). With school over, the Dudley's gang did not miss an occasion to reform and practise Alexandra-hunting (although Piers had apparently nicknamed it "Freak-hunting") and they visited the household every single day, which forced Alexandra to spend as much time as possible outside Little Whinging. In these long periods of solitude, she used her abilities to steal what she needed, wandering around to search new stealing grounds, doing physical exercise to maintain her endurance, and wondering about the future.

For once, there was a light in the usual darkness. When school started in September 1991 she would go off to secondary school and she wouldn't be in the same establishment as Dudley. Her cousin had, gods only knew how (though she had suspicions bribery might be involved), obtained a place at Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. His great friend Piers Polkiss was going there too. Alexandra, on the other hand, had not gotten such privileged treatment (despite being third in her year while Dudley was at the bottom of the rankings) and was going to Stonewall High, the local secondary school. Dudley, naturally, thought this was a very funny situation.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," he told Alexandra. "Want to come upstairs and practise?"

"No thanks," said Alexandra. "The poor toilet's suffered enough with you on it, I refuse to do further damage." Then she calmly began to walk away, preparing to run when Dudley would work out that she'd insulted him.

On July 17th, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, supposedly leaving Alexandra at Mrs Figg's house. As the woman had broken her leg tripping over one of her cats (which it seemed had decreased her love for the species in question), Alexandra wasted no time in leaving her side and the putrid odour of cat food and cat dejections.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living-room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, light orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, which Vernon claimed they used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life, which Alexandra wholeheartedly approved of, as long as it was for the training of brutes and bullies.

As he looked at Dudley in his new clothes, Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.

Alexandra, however, didn't trust herself to speak. The sentences that would have come out would have been too humiliating and sarcastic. At eleven, Dudley looked positively ridiculous in his new uniform, being quite on a way to becoming as large as he was high. At the speed he was growing, her cousin would undoubtedly need a new uniform before May 1992. Not laughing or smiling at this spectacle was one of the hardest things she had done in her life.

Then came July 28th. Alexandra's birthday. As usual there was no birth cake or any presents. Not that she waited on the former or the latter, this hope had died long ago, and her eleventh birthday was treated with all the ignorance the Dursleys had towards insignificant events in which there were no possible gain to be made.

However, there was a horrible smell in the kitchen when Alexandra went in to cook breakfast that morning. The odour seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink, where things looking like dirty rags were floating in a grey liquid.

"What is this thing?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her aunt's lips tightened as they always did if she dared to speak in her presence.

"Your new school uniform." answered Petunia.

Alexandra peered into the bowl again, this time with disgust plain on her face.

"Oh," she said with all the sarcasm she had in her. "I didn't realise the uniform had to smell so strongly."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Alexandra did not believe a word of this, but thought it best not to reply, as the argument would be pointless: her aunt had obviously already made her mind on the subject. She sat down at the table and shivered at the idea of wearing that on her first day at Stonewall High – like she was wearing bits of a dead, putrid animal, in all probability. Sighing, she realised she would have to use some of the stolen money she kept in reserve to buy a proper uniform for her classes. There was no way she would go to school in these dregs.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon then came in, both looking like walruses with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Alexandra's supposed new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

At this exact moment, they heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Alexandra get it," groaned Dudley, as he began to eat his breakfast with the enthusiasm and the manners of a pig.

"Get the post, Alexandra!" Was predictably the next sentence uttered by Vernon.

"Make Dudley get it," she groaned.

"Poke her with your Smeltings stick, Dudley," grunted Vernon, which seemed to be the only answer her uncle had this last week when he wanted her to do something.

She dodged the Smeltings stick as usual (Dudley was so slow it wasn't even a challenge) and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge ( a person even stupider and crazier than Vernon and Petunia combined if it were possible) who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a white envelope that looked like a bank report or something like that and – a letter for Alexandra.

She picked it up, wondering who in hell would send her a letter on this day. The only letters she received came from school, and it had been only after the teachers realised giving her school reports would ensure the Dursleys would never see it (copying Vernon's signature had been one the first things she had learnt there) and stared at it with incredulity. She had no friends (something Dudley was quite guilty for,) no other relatives – and while it was possible it was a letter from the local library she hadn't borrowed a book there the last month (coming back home with a book was tantamount to acknowledging its destruction at the hands of Dudley). Yet here it was, a letter, addressed with an accuracy that was disturbing to say the least:

 **Miss A. Potter**

 **The Smallest Bedroom**

 **4 Privet Drive**

 **Little Whinging**

 **Surrey**

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellow-white parchment like the ones used to write letters three centuries ago, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, which posed the interesting question as to how the letter had arrived there.

Turning the envelope over, Alexandra saw the mysterious letter was sealed with purple wax bearing a coat of arms; which looked like a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Ignoring her uncle with the practise of someone having heard this pathetic joke a hundred of times, Alexandra opened the envelope and began to read.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

 **Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**

 **(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)**

 **Dear Miss Potter,**

 **We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.**

 **Minerva McGonagall**

 **Deputy Headmistress**

It explained everything she supposed. Normal girls weren't supposed to have powers. Normal girls didn't teleport when they were in danger. What she did, what allowed her to escape Dudley's gang and steal everything she needed to survive, was magic.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Vernon.

Alexandra went back into the kitchen with a very unpleasant smile on her face, throwing down onto the table the two other letters.

"So Aunt Petunia," she said with a tone so sarcastic it could have dried the Thames in an instant. "At which point of my life were you planning to tell me I'm a witch?"

The Dursleys reaction went over all her expectations. Petunia emitted a moan of agony, becoming completely livid and falling onto a chair before almost fainting. Vernon turned to a violet-red colour like she had just insulted him a dozen times to his face. Dudley just stared open-mouthed like a goldfish.

"You knew," Alexandra said, as she turned to look Petunia in the eyes.

"Knew?" shrieked Aunt Petunia, regaining some colour as she threw a tantrum. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that – that school – and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog-spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had wanted to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter boy at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then she went and got herself murdered and we got landed with you!"

"So it wasn't a car crash, then?" Alexandra stated and emitting a sound of disgust when her aunt nodded.

Profiting from the fact the whole family seemed to be in a state of shock, she took the time to reread the letter.

"We await your owl." Alexandra read again, out loud this second time. She looked up at Petunia and asked "Do you know how to get money and school supplies?"

"Yes, I know that place where my sister went to buy her things," she drawled. No matter what had happened there, it was evidently not her aunt's fondest memories.

"Then you will give me the directions I need," said Alexandra. "In return..."

"NO!" Shouted Vernon. "YOU WON'T GO TO THIS SCHOOL! YOU WON'T CAUSE FURTHER FREAKINESS! I WON'T LET YOU GO SOMEWHERE WHEN..."

All this rant caused Alexandra a huge headache, and her only wish was to stop. Which, with her powers, became a reality soon enough, as Vernon roars didn't make any sound anymore.

"I wasn't asking for your permission, Uncle." She affirmed in a cold voice, seeing her uncle hold his throat as he was silenced for half a minute. "Hundreds of times, you were proud to say you would be rid of me at the first occasion and when the occasion comes to send me away for several months per year you refuse to let me go. Make up your mind."

It was amusing to see the brain of her uncle trying to struggle between his fear of his niece learning further freakishness and the joy of not having the duty of living with her during the greatest part of a year. She could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

"Very well," he grunted after five minutes of silence, when her power ceased to silence him. "I will allow you to go to this school." The distaste for anything unnatural and against his principles was clear, but his desire to see her leave this house for many months had won out.

"Good." said Alexandra, before climbing up the stairs, letter in hand to make her way back to her room before Vernon and Petunia changed their minds.

Alexandra Victoria Potter supposed she should be feeling excited. She was going to learn magic. She was not going to live with the Dursleys for the next school year. She was going to learn what really happened to her parents. She was going to begin her ascension into the vast and unknown world.

Somehow, however, she felt it wouldn't be that simple. After all, if ten years living at Little Whinging had taught her something, it was that the odds were never in her favour.


	2. A Visit at Gringotts

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 2**

 **A Visit at Gringotts**

 **29 July 1991, 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey**

The very next morning Alexandra woke up early. Today was when she was going to get her school supplies at a place named Diagon Alley. She had managed to extract at least that from Aunt Petunia, as well as the instructions on how to get there. Her descriptions were full of holes and were probably obsolete, as more than twenty years had passed since she had gone to the magical alley. It's a start, at least.

Alexandra idly wondered how children like her mother, who had had no magical parents, managed to go to this place. Was a teacher dispatched to give them the instructions? But if so, why hadn't someone been sent to her place? She might have had a wizard and a witch as parents, but she knew next to nothing concerning the magical world. There were so many questions and no answers that sprang to her mind. No optimistic ones at least. At least she had a precise list of supplies to get, which had been sent to her on a second parchment with the official letter admitting her to Hogwarts.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

 **Uniform:**

 **First-year students will require:**

 **1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)**

 **2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**

 **3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**

 **4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)**

 **Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.**

 **Set Books:**

 **All students should have a copy of each of the following:**

 _ **The Standard Book of Spells**_ **(Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk**

 _ **A History of Magic**_ **by Bathilda Bagshot**

 _ **Magical Theory**_ **by Adalbert Waffling**

 _ **A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration**_ **by Emeric Switch**

 _ **One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi**_ **by Phyllida Spore**

 _ **Magical Drafts and Potions**_ **by Arsenius Jigger**

 _ **Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them**_ **by Newt Scamander**

 _ **The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection**_ **by Quentin Trimble**

 **Other Equipment:**

 **1 wand**

 **1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**

 **1 set glass or crystal phials**

 **1 telescope**

 **1 set brass scales**

 **Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.**

 **PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.**

Had Petunia not involuntarily vouched for the existence of a magical world, Alexandria would have treated the list as a bad joke. Toads, cauldrons, and wands...really? Having not been introduced to the magical world before, she would certainly have to buy an owl. She had not been able to reply to Hogwarts' first letter as there had been no mention of how to reply by the "normal" post. So either she had to find a magical post service to send her answer, or she had to buy a post owl. Simple right? Although why this magical school had not thought of this was not very encouraging.

Seeing how it was early, Alexandra had nothing to do but get prepared and wait for the Dursleys to wake up. She went to the bathroom, deserted at this early hour, washed herself off, then got dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a blue sleeveless shirt, and her only pair of shoes. She then amused herself by levitating some of her pens and pencils for a few minutes, changing their colours regularly to make it a more difficult challenge.

Loud noises informed her the Dursleys had woken up, and she stopped her magical activities. Even after the letter, she doubted Vernon and Petunia would be appreciative of any of her activities challenging their conception of 'normal'. With her uncle and aunt no longer sleeping, Alexandra decided to go down and make breakfast.

The meal itself on this day was a cold and silent moment. Neither Dudley nor Vernon nor Petunia was speaking. Aunt Petunia because of the conversation yesterday, Uncle Vernon because of the fact that he would be driving his 'freak' of a niece to get supplies for her 'freakish school' today, and Dudley because he was too busy eating what should have been enough to feed a family of ten persons for a week. She ate her breakfast silently. This day, no need to anger the Dursleys when they were already incredibly tense.

Uncle Vernon looked up from his morning newspaper. His face was a light violet and darkening, but what had happened yesterday had taught him to control his anger and he didn't shout this time. It was an admirable show of restraint, for him at least.

"So this place I need to take you..." Vernon began, trailing off as his face somehow managed to both grimace and glare at the same time.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Alexandra told him, and Vernon grunted.

"Right, will I need to come back and pick you up?"

"No." She answered. She had no intention to come back to the Dursley's house with a trunk full of magical books and devices. With her luck, her uncle would lock all her supplies in a cupboard until September 1st, which was out of the question.

"Good." Vernon grunted again with the unspoken message that he hadn't had the motivation or desire to go back to get her at all, then went back to reading his morning news. Alexandra rolled her eyes. Sometimes, her uncle was so predictable it wasn't even funny.

Time flew on, and before too long Alexandra found herself being driven through the streets of London by her disgruntled uncle. The man was holding onto the steering wheel tightly, his face still coloured a pale purple, the wheel creaking slightly in his hands. Alexandra paid very little attention to her uncle as she looked out the window, seeing book shops, music stores, cinemas, bars, and schools slide by before her eyes, but nowhere in sight was a shop which was magical in nature. Just ordinary streets full of ordinary people. Could there really be hundreds of wizards near them? Were there really shops that sold wands, cauldrons and broomsticks?

If the Dursleys had had a sense of humour, which they definitely did not, she might have thought all of this was just one big awful joke. As it was, even if the news she received yesterday were unbelievable, she couldn't help but believe it. A chance to escape Little Whinging and her 'family' for good? She was almost giddy with the possibilities.

Hogwarts. She wondered what her new school looked like, what she would learn there. She also wanted to know who had had the idea to name a school that. Hogwarts, frankly, was a ridiculous name. She also wondered if she was behind in the magical curriculum as she had had no contact with this new world before this week.

She had only started using magic consciously at the age of eight when she had used it to destroy the cupboard under the stairs beyond repair. (Vernon had not dared to hire a firm to repair it for fear someone called the authorities.) She supposed she would be at a disadvantage against children who knew that magic was the real deal and not an "abnormality" to be punished at all costs. She would need a lot of time and training, she was sure, to compensate for this. While she was lost in her thoughts, the car progressively decreased its speed and then slowed to a stop. The somewhat grunt of her uncle's "Get out!" was the confirmation she had. Indeed, they had arrived.

Alexandra nodded slowly to acknowledge her uncle's groan, then unstrapped her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon", she said politely, in case she needed the assistance of her uncle one more time. Not likely, but not impossible. Her uncle emitted something between a groan and a grunt again, and the moment she had closed the door he raced away at full speed, no doubt in a hurry to put the maximum of distance between him and the 'freaks'.

She took a moment to observe her surroundings in the street she was standing. While she had imagined the entrance of Diagon Alley as a bright and shining place where magic ruled supreme, the reality appeared really disappointing. The street was as normal as the dozens she had passed in her uncle's car to come here and the dozens she frequented near the Dursleys house. As for the Leaky Cauldron, far from a palace or a monument the size of a supermarket, it appeared to be a tiny, dirty pub looking from the outside, which seemed to have seen better days. The other persons down the street didn't even glance at it. It's like they didn't even see it. Which was probably the case, she mused.

Before entering the Leaky Cauldron, she took a moment in a backside alley to change the colour of her hair and her eyes from their black and bright green to a brown and blue. She might be paranoid, but she didn't know anything at all about the magical world and the place her parents lived in it. A bit of prudence was suggestable, and she could always change back to her real appearance if she needed it.

Entering the pub, Alexandra noted that for an entrance to the wizarding world, it was not a very clean or engaging place. Instead, it looked dark, filthy, and almost deserted. Perhaps it was the fact it was early for a Monday, but it looked like there was no more than half a dozen patrons, all of them having a shabby and shady look. Old men and old women were all drinking tiny glasses of unknown beverages and half of them smoking pipes. As the instructions of her aunt somewhat stopped there, she approached the bald man standing at the bar who likely was the owner. She noticed the small noise of conversations had died down as she entered the pub.

"Excuse me, Sir?" she said in her best engaging voice.

"Hogwarts, miss?" said the old man, opening a mouth which had lost quite a few teeth.

"Yes, Sir. I need to go shopping to Diagon Alley and..."

"Not a problem, my dear." said the bartender. "You're not the first to ask and you won't be the last. But, but please, don't call me Sir. I'm Tom, owner of the Leaky Cauldron. You don't have your parents with you?"

Before she had the time to formulate an excuse she heard a client speaking behind her in a loud and drunken voice "Another Muggle-born to enter our world! What a disgrace!" The man abruptly stopped when Tom threw him a threatening glare.

The issue of parents apparently forgotten due to the interruption of the rude wizard who vaguely looked like a mummy, Tom then led her through the bar to a small courtyard where there was nothing but a few weeds.

With a move that seemed to be almost automatic, the old man got out his wand from his robe and tapped a brick of the wall three times with the point.

"Stand back, miss." He whispered.

The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough for up to three people to pass through together. It was an entrance onto a crowded street which appeared to be very long and weirdly tortuous.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley."

He gently smiled at Alexandra's evident amazement. She thanked the barman, and then stepped through the archway. Alexandra looked rapidly behind her and saw the entrance shrink instantly back into solid wall. Wow, that was impressive.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest building. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Self-Stirring, and Collapsible said the sign over the shop.

There was a cauldron on her shopping list, but as she had no wizarding money at the present time, it would have to wait. She had no idea what "Galleons", "Sickles" and "Knuts" were on the price signs, but she was ready to bet the shops she saw didn't accept the pounds she was used to.

Not that the lack of money forbade her to look. In every direction the magical shops were spread in a manner which was borderline chaotic. Some buildings looked structurally strange, as if only magic was the only thing that stopped a fall of their roof or one of their floors. On the positive side, the alley was certainly not boring. While she attracted her fair share of disapproving stares by being one of the rare persons not wearing a robe, or clothes that were perhaps fashionable in the seventeenth century, the shops and the peculiar winding street was spectacular. The atmosphere was full of different smells, noises and colours. Magic was everywhere; in the windows and the signs of the shops, in the air, in the inhabitants, and in the people doing their shopping.

Somehow, she wished she had more eyes and senses to see everything. Fascinating ingredients like dragon's or manticore's blood were on display in the apothecary's showcase. A lot of hooting came from a great shop with a sign saying 'Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy'. A salesman of a newspaper was shouting in one corner selling something called the Daily Prophet. One shop had several kids of her own age and younger who pressed their faces against the windows to admire what looked to be racing brooms.

"Look," Alexandra heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand – the fastest broom ever –". The prices here looked to have a lot of zeros, though. There were also shops selling robes and different sorts of hats and clothes. Some shops sold telescopes and strange silver instruments. Alexandra had no clue what their purpose was. A potions supply shop window had a display stacked with disgusting things like barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes. Bookshops displayed towering piles of magical books, quills and rolls of parchment, globes of the different planets of the Solar System, potion bottles…

Then she arrived at her first destination; Gringotts, the wizarding bank. It was impossible to miss, the bank was massive. It kind of stood out from the small disorganised shops she had just passed on her way. Its colour was snowy-white, and at least ten times the size of the biggest shop she had seen so far. Apparently, being a banker paid very well. That or the nature of the bankers was the reason. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing uniforms of scarlet and gold, the creatures were clearly not human. One wizard muttering over some financial dispute was overheard saying "Bloody goblins…" Cool. Now she had a name for them.

As she walked up the white stone steps towards the entrance of the bank, she was able to study the goblin guards more precisely. The goblins were about a head shorter than Alexandra. Most of them had a swarthy face and a pointed beard. Alexandra noticed the goblins had all very long fingers and feet. Oh, and some of them had spears and swords, which looked extremely well maintained and extremely dangerous. They bowed as she walked inside. Now she was facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

Alexandra gulped. If she had had any ideas of stealing something here, then these ideas were forgotten right now. She didn't want to imagine what the goblins did to thieves who had failed to heed the warning. Not something pleasant she was ready to bet.

A pair of goblins bowed to her through the silver doors and she entered in a vast hall entirely built in marble. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. About the same number of goblins, but these ones fiercer and more dangerous mounted guard in the corners and the backside, all armed like they were ready to go to battle at any moment. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Seeing apparently there was no waiting line or any kind of order like in a normal establishment, she walked towards the stools that stood empty.

"Good morning," said Alexandra to a free goblin, therefore bringing the goblin's attention to her. Alexandra had not the height to reach the top of the counter, so the goblin had to tilt his head down quite a way to see her. "I was told that my parents owned a vault I can withdraw gold from."

According to Aunt Petunia, her mother had once confided in her that Alexandra's father's family, the Potters, were old family money. She didn't know how much this assertion was worth, knowing her aunt, but it had given her the idea to directly go to the bank. Else she would have to hope for Hogwarts to give her a small tuition to buy her supplies.

"You have your key, miss?"

"No, I don't."

The goblin peered down at her with an ugly sneer on its face. Of course, it had been sneering before it even looked at Alexandra, so she just had to hope a sneering expression wasn't too bad, as she was far from a specialist in goblin behaviour.

"Name?"

"Alexandra Potter."

This time she saw she had completely gotten the goblin's attention. Far from sneering anymore, the goblin was outright smiling, like she had said a joke or something funny. The goblin paused, made a sign and then hopped off the stool.

"Follow me, Miss Potter."

Alexandra followed the goblin through one of the many doors. This one leading to a long hallway, noticing with a growing unease the fact the sign the first goblin had made had rallied eight goblins from the warriors present in the hall, who all looked at her with a particularly hungry look that in her mind didn't presage anything good. They passed along dozens of closed doors, each one holding golden plaques with names on them. _Gorvuk_ _. Morroar. Krevjaw._

As these were clearly not human names, (not that she had any idea of the names in the Wizarding world) she assumed it was the offices of various important goblins. Soon enough, they reached a door with the word _Grimjaw_ engraved on the plaque. The goblin knocked, once, whispered what looked like "Another one!" to whoever was inside then opened fully the door and gestured for Alexandra to enter.

The room she was led into was not large, and vaguely circular. Large bookcases were holding the majority of the places along the wall. They were full of large books, tomes, scrolls of parchment and a monumental quantity of paperwork. In the centre of the room was a red desk made out of a wood so crimson it looked like blood. Sitting behind that desk was a goblin that looked quite a bit taller, older and more dangerous than the other ones Alexandra had seen so far. He had a small goatee, and was really smiling in what Alexandra recognized as a bloodthirsty manner. The fact the eight goblin guards were waiting at the door with gleeful expressions was not good.

The old goblin took one look at Alexandra then reached behind his desk to grip an odd-looking parchment and a particularly sharp dagger with symbols which looked like runes Alexandra had seen once in a documentary at the television.

"Cut your finger and place your blood on the paper." The goblin in front of her ordered. Alexandra raised an eyebrow, but she realized she had little choice. The goblins behind her looked ready to impale her with their spears, and she had no weapon to fight them. Picking up the dagger and slicing her finger open without flinching, she held the wound over the parchment and let her blood land onto the parchment. Quasi-instantly her complete name, Alexandra Victoria Potter, appeared on the paper. Then the name of her parents. Lilian Marie Evans and James Charlus Potter. Then others and...

"That's enough." grunted the goblin who had apparently read the results at the same time she had.

He nodded, once, and looked in direction of the door.

"You can leave us; I'll call you if you are required." He gestured for the other goblins, who all seemed disappointed, for some reason, to leave the room.

The armoured goblins bowed once to the goblin in front of them, before leaving the office.

He then turned his attention at Alexandra.

"You seem to be the real one, this time. I have been waiting you a long time, Heiress Potter."

Seeing Alexandra look completely lost, the old goblin sighed.

"Miss Potter, you have not been the first person to pass the gates of Gringotts and pretend to be the Heiress of House Potter. Several persons have tried to grab what remained of your family's fortune. Some of them were even men. The Ministry of Magic also tried once to grab the contents of your vaults to reimburse their debts. A great deal of forged wills and other fake treaties were sent to Gringotts, forcing us in the last decade to use harsher measures. The impostors have almost ceased to come to Gringotts since we put the punishments into effect."

She nodded at that piece of news, which explained how belligerent the goblins had behaved towards her. They had believed she was just another impostor.

"Although I must say it was not wise to disguise yourself like this, Heiress Potter. If Goblok had seen you as you are, he would have been a bit less zealous to come to me in such a manner."

With a shock, Alexandra realized the appearance she had used to enter Diagon Alley was gone. She was again presenting her real appearance to the world.

Of course the goblins had magic to see through disguises. Stupid of her to presume they had not.

"Now that it is said..." said the goblin opening different ledgers rapidly. "I must talk to you about important affairs. As accountant of the Potter family, I was charged to keep and make prosper the fortune of the Ancient House of Potter. It is my greatest displeasure to inform you that I've failed in that regard."

Seeing by his look, the goblin didn't appear to have made this admission lightly. He looked like if someone had just torn out his teeth one by one. Slowly.

"Why Accountant Grimjaw?" said simply Alexandra.

The goblin watched her with a surprised expression.

"Heiress Potter," he began slowly. "How much do you know about the political situation in Magical England?"

"I was told that magic existed yesterday," replied bitterly Alexandra.

Grimjaw, as she appeared to have guessed accurately the name of the old goblin, sighed once more, apparently having his suspicions confirmed.

"I have not the time for a complete history lesson of the last decades, Heiress Potter. If you want one, buy a book in the nearby libraries. They will be biased, as the books of your species always are, but they will explain a good part of what you must know. Even if we had a full day before us, with your current lack of knowledge, the explanations would take far longer than that. I will give you only the basics, then the account affairs will take priority."

Alexandra Potter listened with all her attention now. Seeing she was agreeing with him, Grimjaw continued.

"From 1978 to 1981, Magical Britain was in a state of civil war. While we the Goblins of Gringotts stayed neutral, hundreds of wizards and other magical races died in the futile butchery you humans are so known for. On the one side there was the Ministry of Magic and various militias. On the other side was the Dark Lord Voldemort, his supporters the Death Eaters and other magical races, supporters of blood purity." Grimjaw grimaced. "By October 1981, this side had almost won. Thousands were dead, and your Ministry was openly considering surrender. Until the day of Halloween, when the Dark Lord tried to kill the Longbottom family. While this dark wizard killed Alice and Frank Longbottom without effort, the moment he turned his wand on their son Neville, the spell he cast backfired and he disappeared without a trace. All his supporters fled, dispersed or surrendered shortly after. Since then, Neville Longbottom was celebrated by your whole Ministry and the rest of the wizarding population as the Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of Magical England."

Alexandra was stunned at that news. Did her manager account just tell her a war had just been fought and won by a fluke? In the British Isles? Grimjaw seemed delighted by her expression, but then turned sombre.

"Unfortunately for your family, the events turned rather bad after that. Your father, Lord James Potter, was a good friend of Lord Frank Longbottom. In the aftermath of the attack, James Potter was openly accused of being a spy in service of the Dark Lord and to have revealed to him the place where the Longbottom family was hidden. He managed to flee for a short period, but your mother and yourself were attacked by a mob in your house at Godric's Hollow on November 5 1981. Your mother was murdered that night, although she managed to save you before the end."

"Is my father dead?" Alexandra asked coldly. Inside, she was boiling with anger. Her father had abandoned her mother and herself to die! What was the coward thinking?

"No, Heiress Potter. He was arrested after a bloody fight on November 9 1981 and sent to Azkaban prison to serve a life sentence. He is still imprisoned there as we speak."

She nodded at this information, not trusting herself to speak.

"It was the beginning of the end for your family by then," continued Grimjaw with bitterness. "You were the last Potter who could access your family fortune, but we could not find you, and even if we had, you were one year old and your parents did not leave any valid will in their name here or anywhere else I know. The Ministry of Magic and the former allies of your father rapidly divided between themselves the former possessions of your family."

"Not that your father hadn't made their task easier," added the account manager after a moment surprising her. "From the start of the war, Lord Potter had invested important sums of money to support a militia group named the Order of the Phoenix who fought against the Dark Lord. Your mother objected to this spending but..." The goblin gave the equivalent of a roll of shoulders at that.

"How much is left to me?"

"Not a lot, Heiress Potter." The goblin started to look at his ledgers again. "Apart from the ruins of Potter Manor in Wales, the ruins of your family house in Godric's Hollow and an old and decrepit house in London, you have no more lands to your name anymore."

"In currency, thanks to your mother's precautions, you have a total of 210 075 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 8 Knuts in your vaults."

Alexandra still was impressed. When she had been at the Dursleys, she had been told she was worth nothing at least twice a day!

"What are the basics in wizarding money and the conversion rate from Galleons to Pounds?" she asked in barely repressed excitement.

"One Galleon is seventeen Sickles and one Sickle is twenty-nine Knuts. One Galleon is roughly nineteen pounds, one Sickle is one pound and twelve pence, and one Knut is approximately four pence."

Alexandra found herself in utter ecstasy. If what Grimjaw said was true, she had in her vaults the next best thing to four million pounds in cash! That kind of money was a huge sum for someone like her. There was just no way she could have that much money on hand. It was too incredible to be true.

"There must be a catch." She observed. Grimjaw nodded, apparently satisfied his client was not stupid.

"Indeed Heiress Potter. As you're currently under-age, you will not be able to enter the Potter vault where the majority of your fortune is until you come of age or you are emancipated. To be blunt, the latter is not going to happen. Your family is currently seen as the worst traitors in the British Isles by a large margin. The chances of the Ministry of Magic granting you the right to access to your vault as a minor are currently null. And we, the goblins of Gringotts, are sworn to uphold the laws of the Ministry unless they have broken the treaty." His voice suggested he would not shed a tear when this event happened.

"So I won't be able to access the Potter vault until I'm eighteen?"

"Seventeen," the goblin corrected, and Alexandra looked at him curiously. "A witch becomes a magical adult in the wizarding world at seventeen."

"What will I be able to access then?"

"Your trust vault, which is vault 869. Currently there are 11 000 Galleons in it, with 1000 to be added every year the day of your birthday."

"Are there other things in the vaults or elsewhere that I own?"

"There are various heirlooms, books, precious gems, and some magical artefacts in the Potter vault. I will provide you a list in the week if you wish." As she nodded in approval, Grimjaw added "though their number has severely diminished in the few years your father was acting lord of this House. There are also a certain number of objects that went missing after the house at Godric's Hollow was torched, including a rare Pensieve and an Invisibility Cloak of great value. But in your trust vault, there is only money and a few school books. Very few of your family's other financial assets survived. You still own 5% of a joke shop named Zonko's, 4% of the license exploitation of the famous drink Butterbeer and 3% in a French clothes shop named _Capes d'excellence_ which is located in France."

At her interrogating look, the goblin continued. "I can only make speculations, but I believe your parents put everything of value in their main vault, as it was the only one the Ministry and ourselves couldn't access due to the protections needing Potter blood to be deactivated. Your trust vault was only supposed to be pocket money, according to your mother's wishes."

Alexandra stayed silent longer this time, trying to absorb all this information.

"Are there anything more I should know?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." This time the goblin sounded sincerely amused. "Your role in politics."

Alexandra emitted a sound between a groan and a lamentation.

"With the Lord of your House currently in prison and his title voted invalid by the Wizengamot, you as Heiress and last member of your House will have to take a more active role in politics than a child of your age should have needed. As soon as you are 15 or you manage to achieve four OWLS in the Wizarding exams of your school, you will have to attend the Wizengamot and the other courts where your presence is required, as well as other key events. You could of course still delay attendance until your majority at 17, but you would have to choose someone as proxy, and the Wizengamot would have to accept it. For now, your Magical Guardian is acting as your proxy by default for the courts."

"And who is he?" Alexandra asked with the painful feeling she wasn't going to like the answer at all.

"Why, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Has he the right to do this?" she asked.

"Sadly, yes. Usually, your Magical Guardian would be your father. He's not in any position to do it. Your mother would come next but she's dead. As there are no magical relatives bearing the name Potter, or close enough to be considered, your godfather and godmother would be the next best choices." Grimjaw then sighed. "Alas, your godfather Sirius Black officially broke his godfather vows the night your father was imprisoned. Your godmother, Alice Longbottom, is dead too. In that situation, the proxy would go to the Minister of Magic or the Chief Warlock, the latter being Albus Dumbledore himself."

"Is it not a conflict of interests?" she asked, reminded of Vernon Dursley ranting about some issues on the Parliament of London.

"In the Muggle world -" he stopped at her confused look "- our name for the non-magical world. In the Muggle world, perhaps. But the wizard laws are very different from there."

"I am so going to study this month," she whispered.

"Don't look so scared, Heiress Potter!" The goblin was outright grinning now. "Your parents left you no blood feuds, no betrothals, no marriage contracts..." He trailed off at the end.

"Apart from a dreadful reputation, you mean?" She replied sarcastically.

"Apart from that," agreed the goblin.

Grimjaw then reached into his desk, and pulled out a box, which looked like it had been made in gold. Opening the box, it revealed two rings. The box was then pushed across the desk so Alexandra could see them.

One was silver, while the other was gold, but apart from that they looked identical. Both had a dragon and a sword intertwined with a circle around them, and both pulsed light and magic so powerfully she could feel it only by looking

"Heiress Potter, the silver ring on your left is the Potter heiress ring. When you reach the age or seventeen or when you father dies, whichever comes first, it will change itself into a new ring. The ring in question will be unique, just like it is with every Lord and Lady of the Magical World. No one besides you can wear the ring; anyone else will die in a very painful agony if they try. Only your heirs and successors will ever be able to wear the ring. To claim officially your heritage has a Potter, you only have to put the ring on." Grimjaw explained, pushing the plain silver ring forward.

"And the gold one?" She asked, taking the warm silver ring in her hands.

"For your consort, lover your husband or whatever you call your future male partner. No one else but the man you chose will be able to do so."

"Why does it look like there are bloodstains on it?" She asked, noticing the detail.

"When the Wizengamot sent your father to Azkaban, he refused to leave the ring in another's possession, screaming no one would be Lord Potter but him," sighed the old goblin. "The Ministry's executioner removed three of his fingers and gave us back the ring as per the conventions. Under the circumstances," his voice turned predatory after that. "I didn't bother to clean it."

Now frankly ill-at ease, Alexandra placed the ring on her left middle-finger. She could rapidly feel a very small tingling and a small pulse. The ring glowed and then faded. She had been accepted as the Potter family heiress.

"I was expecting something more... spectacular," she remarked.

"That is only for your ascension as a lady, I'm afraid. Although, it is more painful as well."

"Very well," Alexandra sighed. She had had enough of news for the day. The rest could wait another week at worst, another year at best, another appointment anyway and a time she was more knowledgeable in the magical world.

"Unless there is something important left, I would like to see my trust vault for a withdrawal."

"You will need this," Grimjaw opened into another drawer and pulled out a small golden key, which he handed over to Alexandra. "This key will allow you to access your trust vault."

"Gurbrok!" He shouted what she could only assume was a name, and the door to the office opened up for another Goblin who looked like a younger version of him.

Alexandra turned back to Grimjaw. "Gurbrok will lead you to your vault. And Heiress Potter?"

"Yes, Account Manager?"

"Try to remain alive, I would be very disappointed if I was forced to relinquish your fortune to the Ministry."

"I will not die," she told the old goblin, trying to feel braver than she really felt.

"Follow me." Gurbrok turned around and walked out rapidly to the left of the corridor without waiting to see if Alexandra would follow him. She was forced to run to catch up with the much shorter goblin. Soon, she was led out of the corridor, then into a hallway, then down another corridor, and at last, into another hall that was much different from the marble marvels she had seen so far. The hallway itself was carved in stone and led to a passageway which was narrow and lit with flaming torches.

In place there was what could only be a cart on a railway. The cart was old, small, unstable, and looked like it would be thrown off the tracks at the first incident. Given that the railway she could see in the light of the torches seemed to be twisting and do a lot of turns, it was hardly reassuring.

"Get inside of the cart," said Gurbrok. Alexandra marched to the cart and sat down. Gurbrok followed into the cart, standing at the front where he pulled a system of levers.

What followed was a nightmare of speed in the dark. The cart passed suddenly from immobility to an incredible acceleration. Then the speed increased even more, and Alexandra lost her lunch at that moment. The speed of the cart was so rapid her eyes weren't able to follow. They passed over a large thing that looked suspiciously like a very big dragon in the distance, but it was one of the only things she could make out. After what felt like an eternity, the cart finally decreased in speed and then stopped. Alexandra profited from the moment to vomit instantly the rest of her breakfast to the side of the cart, before following Gurbrok out of the cart. They had not far to go, and after two doors arrived at an ancient looking door carrying the number 689. Her trust vault.

"Key," Gurbrok held out his hand, and Alexandra put the key in it. Gurbrok was quick to unlock the vault. He did so by lifting a flap behind which the lock was hidden.

Once the key was inserted, there was a loud grinding noise which only came to a halt when loud 'clangs' were heard, before leaving green smoke billowing out at great speed. Even for her trust vault, the systems of security provided by Gringotts looked extremely efficient and if the smoke was any indication, extremely lethal. Gurbrok stepped aside, letting her see columns of gold Galleons, piles of silver Sickles and hundreds of bronze Knuts. Neatly organised, her trust vault was full of money. More money than she had ever had in her life. And it was only her trust vault.

On the other side of the room were a few books, and Alexandra marched towards them, only to be disappointed when these were revealed to be old magical tales told to children. Then again, what was valuable when she was young had certainly found its way to the familial vault.

The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd certainly have tried to obtain it. These were her thoughts while putting the money in a bag. How often had they complained about how much Alexandra cost them to keep while they did only the minimum for her? How ironic that all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep in magical London.

"I'm done here now," she said softly, turning to Gurbrok after collecting what she figured was the equivalent of two hundred Galleons in money in a pouch. She looked back into the vault one last time as it closed, then got into the cart that would take her back to the entrance of Gringotts.

"Could we please go a bit slower for the return?" she asked to the goblin.

"One speed only for the carts," said Gurbrok in a satisfied tone and a nasty smile. She did not need to decipher the goblin's expression to know the little being was lying through his teeth. Goblins clearly loved seeing their clients vomit their previous meal.

One wild cart-ride later and she stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Alexandra stood there, a bit pale for the moment as she had just lost her breakfast and her illusions in the underground of the bank.

On the one hand, she had just been given more money she'd had in her whole life. She suspected she had more money than the Dursleys had currently in their bank accounts. On the other hand, she had just been informed her family, or what remained of it, was the equivalent of Judas in the magical world. People were going to hate her for what her father did. Having had the experience of the Dursleys for ten years, she doubted the term 'innocent until proven guilty' was worth more in this world than it was valued in Privet Drive. It was going to be hell to make any friends or alliances.

"Let's try to survive, shall we?" Alexandra whispered. She once again modified her appearance to the common brown hair and blue eyes she had adopted hours ago to enter the magical world, and then she climbed down the stairs of Gringotts, eager to discover the mysteries of Diagon Alley.


	3. The Mysteries of Diagon Alley

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 3**

 **The Mysteries of Diagon Alley**

 **29 July 1991, Diagon Alley, London**

Now that she had money, Alexandra figured she could at last search her school supplies and the rest of the magical objects she needed before September 1. First thing up on her list were logically an owl and a trunk, considering the Dursleys refused to get her the later. An owl was her priority for three reasons. First, while she had no friends to send messages to for now, she also had absolutely no means to reply when someone sent her an important message requesting an answer as soon as possible. Messages coming from places like Gringotts or Hogwarts, for example. Secondly, buying an owl in the short term would certainly be costly for her budget, but would avoid a lot of spending in the long term. If she had to use the owl office at the end of Diagon Alley every time she wanted to communicate with someone in the magical world, it would add up. Lastly, her aunt absolutely hated all sorts of animals at home, even the dogs Vernon's sister Marge brought with her when she came. Making an owl come into the Dursleys home would be a superb prank, even if Aunt Petunia was allergic to the birds, a cat would have been better from that point of view.

Entering _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ _,_ Alexandra noticed that the store was very dark on the inside, almost certainly because owls were nocturnal creatures contrary to humans. Alexandra's vision took roughly a minute to completely adjust. When she had adapted sufficiently, she was able to see the shop was simply a warehouse for a lot of cages, all containing owls of different kinds and sizes. There were a few birds vaguely looking like hybrids of owls, but apart from these special cases, the shop was truly the kingdom of the caged owl.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Alexandra nodded to the vendor. She almost didn't hear him with all the hooting and screeching from the dozens of owls.

"Possibly," Alexandra replied. "I'm looking for... a courier owl, fast and tough enough to carry messages and packages."

"No problem." The man smiled, then began to march along the alley formed by the numerous cages, followed by Alexandra."Eeylops has plenty of those." He laughed loudly. "We have plenty of owls of all sorts, even some foreign breeds, if you like."

They passed by many owls, all of them hooting as they twisted their heads this way and that. Alexandra was surprised when some owls revealed themselves able to twist their own head a full 180 degrees. Still, no owl for the moment had attracted her attention.

They had finally reached the far end of the shop when she was attracted by the sight of a snowy white owl with amber eyes. She was looking at her with intelligence. Alexandra smiled, knowing she had found her owl at last.

"This one." she said.

"Be careful with this one!" said the shop keeper in an alarmed tone. "She has already tried to bite several customers in the last weeks. This bird is a white demon!"

"Thank you for the warning but I will take her." Alexandra said. "How much for her?"

"Thirty Galleons. That includes both the cage and owl treats."

"I won't need the cage," Alexandra said, her voice almost cold, at the involuntary reminder of the years she had been imprisoned in the cupboard by the Dursleys. She would be damned before she subjected an animal to the same cruelty.

The vendor looked a bit worried at the idea of selling an aggressive bird to a young girl, but he didn't argue. "Very well, then it will be twenty Galleons for the owl."

Alexandra paid the man, and then opened the cage. The owl flew out without needing any incentive and then landed on her right shoulder. The owl then refused to move further, making the vendor laugh.

She left the shop, which had been too dark and noisy for her taste, with her new companion on her shoulder, and then proceeded to search for something to eat.

At Fortescue Ice-Cream Parlour, she bought a sandwich, a tart, an apple juice, an ice cream and water, filling her stomach which had been drastically emptied by the cart ride in the depths of Gringotts. She also had the arduous task of naming her owl. Initially, she had been willing to name the owl Athena, but the owl screeched threateningly when she had made the mistake to call her by that name. After an intense period of negotiation, which included owl treats and pieces of sandwich, they finally settled for Atalanta. Alexandra thought it was a good name for her owl, as she had a huntress' temperament. Once her meal was over, she gave her reply letter for Hogwarts to the newly named owl, who flew off into the northern sky northwards after eating one more owl treat.

Her next stop after lunch was the shop _Magical Trunks to Travel Anywhere!_ , as she really needed something to carry her supplies. After Eeylops, it was not a surprise to discover the shop was huge and full of trunks. Some of them were even moving or levitating by themselves. The shop owner was sitting near a desk at the far end of the shop, negotiating with a client who seemed to have needed a customised trunk as he departed with one in tow which was growling and barking at the same time.

"Can I help you miss?" asked the man.

"Yes, I was wondering if I could get a trunk for Hogwarts," she answered, looking at all the trunks present with interest.

"Of course, what type of trunk would you like? A basic model for first years?" he asked after looking at her. It was clear that this man had an opinion about the way she was dressed. Perhaps he thought she was poor because the clothes screamed 'Muggle-born'.

"Maybe an advanced model, please. I would like one with a basic security system at the very least. I intend to place all my school supplies plus my clothes in it."

The man stared at her pensively for ten seconds then nodded, before levitating a trunk on his right with his wand. Of a green-black colour, it appeared solid and unremarkable.

"This is the T35 design. It has two extra compartments in addition to the basic model I recommend for Hogwarts third-year students, and it has extra-security features so you can lock your trunk and the compartments with a password and your wand."

She examined the trunk, still asked to see two others and for a demonstration of the safety measures before taking the first trunk he had proposed. She paid thirty Galleons for this purchase, thanked the vendor for his time and went out again into the streets of Diagon Alley.

Having her trunk, she could finally begin purchasing her school supplies. Her next stop was the book store, _Flourish and Blotts_ _,_ as it was only two shops away from the one she has just left _._

 _Flourish and Blotts_ was completely different from any other book store or library she had ever been in. To begin with, it was impossibly larger on the inside than the outside. It was maybe four or five times the size of the trunk store, and a lot of this space was full of books. Rows upon rows of books. Thousands of books. All categorised by magical subjects, of which there were plenty. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, and so much more, all waiting to be read.

First things first, she searched thorough the store for the eight books on her list, which were the basic readings for a first-year Hogwarts student and cost 6 Galleons, eight Sickles and nine Knuts. After finding the books needed for Hogwarts' courses, she then tried to find other interesting books to buy. She didn't know anything at all about the wizarding world, and figured she'd best not begin her life by insulting or not knowing what every witch took for granted. Although she had not the money on her (or for that matter in her trust vault) to buy all the books in this library, she could try to read more than the normal curriculum of her new magical school. She wasn't going to make the travel to Diagon Alley every day anyway, so a bit of extra reading wasn't going to empty her trust vault in one shopping session _._

She had already bought _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot for history lessons, but she added _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ _,_ _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ _, and_ _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ _,_ which seemed to be the more relevant titles the library owned. At least by the time she read these books she would have a clear idea of what events had happened in the last decades in the magical world _._

There were more history books, of course, like _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Modern Magical History,_ and _A Study of Recent Developments in Transfiguration_ but she had neither the money nor the will to read dozens of books all at once. All of the books looked like they would be interesting, but she had several years to buy and read them all. Assuming the library of Hogwarts didn't have them. The store wasn't going to magically disappear tomorrow, at least she hoped not. Given what she had learnt and seen today, she was not going to rule out something like a shop disappearing in the void as a magical impossibility immediately.

She still bought the _Cast-a-spell Handbook_ , _Abracadabra: An A-Z of Spooky Spells_ and _Curses and Counter-Curses_ by Vindictus Viridian, but with six more books she had enough reading for August, and it cost her another four Galleons, one Sickle and two Knuts.

She passed the next half-hour searching through amusing titles, when she found next to a section dedicated to a discipline called Arithmancy an entire wing dedicated to one person. At first, she thought it was a bad joke, but then she read the titles, having names such as _Neville Longbottom and the Bulgarian Purple Dragon, Neville Longbottom and the Vampire's Spell, Neville Longbottom and the Race Through Time, Neville Longbottom and the Ultimate Tournament_ and at least what looked to be twenty other books with similar titles, all bearing the description in the first page of being 'True Story!'.

Alexandra was not sure what disturbed her more, the fact that people were writing books about one person, the fact that the boy in question (at least according to what her account manager had told her) was barely the same age as her, or that the entire shelf next to her was full of dolls and toys at the effigy of Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived _._

Picking up the one titled _Neville Longbottom and the Manticore's Revenge_ , she opened the book to the first page and began to read. Rapidly, she saw the story was pure nonsense. She didn't even have to read past the first chapter to know Neville Longbottom was going to defeat the Manticore at the end of the book (although the fact that Manticores existed in the magical world was definitely not a good thing) while the Boy-Who-Lived had already defeated twenty evil adult wizards alone in the first chapter. How a five year-old boy was supposed to accomplish this monumental feat at an age a normal child was in primary school, she had no idea, the author having left this minor issue to the imagination of the reader.

Alexandra did not know if the people who had written this believed this pack of lies, but it made her wonder about the ego of the boy who was supposed to have accomplished all these 'exploits', especially if the wizards and witches and their children took them as the pure and unaltered truth.

Realising she had passed enough time at the book store, she closed the book, put it back in its place and went back to her trunk to pack the books she had bought. The fictional adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived could wait for another time, although she noticed a couple of adults buying the books in question for their children before she left the shop.

After leaving _Flourish and Blotts_ _,_ she bought a watch in a magical horologer when she realised she had not a lot of daylight left to buy of her supplies. After that she bought a pewter cauldron as indicated on the list for the modest sum of two galleons piece, then the set of scales (for ten sickles) and a collapsible telescope (for three galleons). She quickly bought the ingredients and the kit for potions she needed in the apothecary shop, as the smell was truly repulsive, horrible, and a lot of other words where disgusting figured prominently.

In spite of the barrels of slimy stuff which stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls. Bundles of feathers, strings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Alexandra found herself unable to bear the smell of rotten eggs and outdated vegetables that was in this store. She got out of this establishment as soon as possible.

The following shop on Alexandra's list of places to go was for clothes, in that case the name of the shop was _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions._ There, she was welcomed by an old witch who could only be the owner of the store, Madam Malkin. She was a squat witch, dressed in a long mauve robe, and gave her a pleasant smile. She looked a bit strange being so short in height, but at least she wasn't repulsive like so many witches in the alley had been. Many of them had the look and the smell of the evil witches in the fairy tales. And her behaviour was likeable, unlike some other welcomes she had this day in the Leaky Cauldron or Gringotts.

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked the woman, her kind smile still in place.

Alexandra nodded. "Yes, Madam."

"We've had quite a few Hogwarts students coming in today," the woman said. "In fact, there's a young woman being fitted up just now."

In the back of the shop, a girl with light blond hair was indeed standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up her long black robes. Seeing Alexandra, she frowned in a sign disdain and her face changed as if Alexandra was unworthy to be in the same room as her. The girl had a pale skin, light blonde hair and cold blue eyes, giving her a sort of ethereal beauty which was usually found in the magazines showing pictures of top models Petunia bought for the cosmetics and the tea parties with the neighbours. Madam Malkin stood Alexandra on the stool next to her, slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," she said to the girl when it became evident the other girl was not going to speak first. "So you go to Hogwarts too?"

"Evidently," replied the other girl, with a tone that managed to be arrogant, confident and aristocratic at the same time. Alexandra knew at once she and the unknown girl were not going to be friends. "What year are you in?"

"First year." she replied hoping the conversation had just gotten better after a bad start.

"As expected given your Muggle clothes." the blond girl affirmed with a tone of something which could be superiority or arrogance. "I take it your parents are currently buying all the things you need for Hogwarts, like all Muggle-borns do?" The way the question was formed, it was clear the girl's question had been more rhetorical than anything else.

Alexandra turned her head in shock. Okay, it seemed her first impression of the girl had been the truth. Definitely not someone she wanted to be friends with. If the girl had been less snobbish, she would have sworn she was doing the equivalent of smirking.

"For the record," she drawled in a cold tone similar to the one which had just been used to insult her, "my parents were a wizard and a witch, so I'm not Muggle-born. And no, they're not buying my supplies in Diagon Alley. They're dead. I'm doing my shopping myself."

Not technically true as her father was currently imprisoned, but she was not going to inform the pest next to her of her exact familial status.

The other girl raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else as the lady was finishing her robes.

Alexandra wondered why the girl sounded so full of herself. Even Aunt Petunia on her best haughty day wasn't in the same league of 'unreachable'. It was not like she hadn't said something truly insulting or had the appearance of a gargoyle! Or maybe she was able to read her thoughts. With magic, everything was possible after all.

Losing herself in her thoughts, she was caught by surprise when the other girl spoke again.

"So what house do you think you'll be in?" the blonde diva asked her.

"I'm not sure," Alexandra answered, almost tempted to admit she knew really little about the system of Houses in Hogwarts, and only because she had spoken to a library assistant not two hours ago. Otherwise, she wouldn't even know there were Houses at her new school. Not that she was going to tell her interlocutor that. She didn't even know what House her parents were in.

"No idea. You?" she turned back the question, not wanting to admit her ignorance to this girl.

"Well," the girl actually seemed to think for a moment, before shrugging. "I'm not really sure, but I would say Slytherin or Ravenclaw, since my parents were in those Houses. Nobody is really sure where they'll be sorted until after the sorting the first day of school, but everyone can make accurate guesses where you won't be. I just hope I'm not in Hufflepuff. Or worse in Gryffindor."

"And what's wrong with being sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor?" asked Alexandra, honestly curious. She also filed away the knowledge that both Ravenclaw and Slytherin were places which would be less than pleasant if the blond girl was put in them.

"Don't you know?" The girl asked in an amused tone, before hurrying on with the answer before Alexandra could say anything to the question that was obviously rhetorical. "Hufflepuff are failures academically and the House of cowards and leftovers. Still, better them than Gryffindor. If you're stupid and you love charging into lost causes headlong, then this House is for you."

The girl was leaning at that moment towards her, which explained how she had missed the look of anger on the face of the young woman pinning up her robes. However, while the insufferable blond girl missed it, Alexandra was in the perfect position to see the expression, and it was not a pleasant one. She didn't doubt the employee wanted to strangle the blonde haired girl badly right now.

Before Alexandra or the other girl could say anything more, the other woman said to the blond girl "That's you done, my dear," and the blonde hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the haughty girl with a condescending tone, managing to imply in this single sentence she didn't think Alexandra had her place at this school.

When she was far away, Alexandra asked to the young woman: "You were in Hufflepuff, weren't you?"

The woman's head turned in surprise as she looked at her. She gave Alexandra a cold smile. "Yes," she answered Alexandra's question. "I was one of those failures, as she called them, and for your information, you'll never have a more loyal friend than a Hufflepuff."

"That's you done, dear," Madam Malkin said, interrupting any further attempt at conversation, which was probably for the better, as she was sure it wouldn't have been a polite one. Alexandra nodded and hopped of the stool. Paying for her uniforms and other items (hats, cap and gloves) cost her twenty galleons, and after having wished a pleasant day to Madam Malkin, she packed her trunk and went out the clothes shop.

The next half-hour was dedicated to buying parchment, quills and other writing materials (though Alexandra promised herself to bring some 'normal' pens to Hogwarts).

Now she had just her wand left to buy, and Mr Fortescue had told her the name of the shop she had to look for: _Ollivanders Wand Shop_ , who was according to him the best wand maker of Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley and the rest of London combined. She found it in ten minutes.

This last shop was narrow, shabby, and not engaging in any sense. Old gold letters over the door read: _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Worst advertisement ever in her opinion: the building looked two steps away from toppling itself into a complete ruin.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as she stepped inside. It was a very tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which she certainly didn't want to sit on to wait. For a wand shop, she felt slightly disappointed. After all was not the wand the most important of her school supplies she had to get? Alexandra felt strange, as though she had entered a mysterious place. One where the reality of the world didn't completely apply. She had found in the last hours she had a lot questions concerning magical wands, and right now she saw them in thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason she felt ill-at ease, like she knew she was being watched by someone unknown in this strange shop. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with a magic which had no comparison to hers.

"Good afternoon." said a soft voice. Alexandra almost jumped in place, but managed with difficulty to restrain herself. Instead, she turned her head in all directions, trying to see who had just spoken. Coming out of nowhere, an old man was standing before her. His wide, pale eyes shone like silvery moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Alexandra awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Alexandra Potter." It wasn't a question. While her disguise didn't appear to have collapsed, the man had pierced her new look without effort. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Alexandra in a slow, careful manner. Alexandra wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes and manners were a bit on the creepy side.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard or the witch, of course."

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Alexandra were almost nose to nose. Alexandra could see herself reflected in those misty eyes, along with some smoky things she didn't want to look at too much.

He shook his head and then, to Alexandra's relief, spun on his heel to march back into his shop.

"Hmmm," said Mr Ollivander, turning again towards her, apparently collecting his thoughts. "Well, now – Miss Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Err – well, I'm left-handed," said Alexandra.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Alexandra from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, the heartstrings of dragons, and the hair, blood or skin of dozens of magical animals. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, griffins, sphinxes or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

The speech sounded like the man had rehearsed it and practised it thousands of times.

Alexandra suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Alexandra took the wand and waved it around a bit to experiment. The left window almost exploded under the impact. Mr Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Alexandra tried –and she almost set the shop on fire. The wand was snatched back by Mr Ollivander again.

"No, no – here, oak and thestral hair, ten inches, solid. Go on, go on, try it out."

Alexandra tried. And destroyed the door behind Ollivander. She tried again with another wand. And then another, unleashing more chaos and destruction into the shop. She had no idea what Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair and near it, but the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier and more excited he seemed to become. She also noticed that the core of the wands she tried were rarely phoenixes, unicorns or dragons now. Some of the magical creatures Mr. Ollivander was announcing were names of the Greek and other mythologies she had learnt in the school library, and she prayed she would never met some of these beasts face to face in her life.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – a powerful combination – rosewood and hydra heartstring, twelve inches, whippy."

Alexandra took the wand. She felt a sudden sensation of both warmth and cold in her fingers. She raised the wand slightly to her eyes, and then brought it down swiftly, swishing down through the dusty air and a small hurricane of blue and green magic shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing sparks onto the walls. Mr Ollivander smiled and exclaimed: "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how interesting … how very surprising …"

He put Alexandra's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Interesting … interesting …"

"Excuse me," said Alexandra curious, "but what's interesting?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Alexandra with his intimidating stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever made and sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that hydra wands are rarely made as very few wizards and witches are destined for this type of magical core, as hydras are not only uncommon, but also fearsome and powerful magical beasts. I created only two wands with hydra heartstring, and the other wand is still in my shop awaiting its new master or mistress. It is very interesting indeed that you should be destined for this wand when no one for the last century was able to create a single spark from the two wands using this magical component."

Alexandra swallowed, not liking at all the semi-creepy tone used by the man...

"Yes, twelve inches. Rosewood. Interesting indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter … After all, witches like Morgana Le Fay did terrible things, terrible but great..."

She was forced to shiver at his tone. She wasn't sure she enjoyed Mr Ollivander at all after this. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand and Mr Ollivander bowed her out of his shop.

It was now late-afternoon and the sun hung low in the sky as Alexandra emerged from Ollivander's shop. She estimated she must have passed over two hours in that shop searching a wand. She made her way back down Diagon Alley, which was now less crowded than in the morning, took the time to thank Mr Fortescue for his advice and then went back through the Leaky Cauldron, now completely empty of any clients. Once out of the pub, she went to the backside alley of the morning and cancelled her disguise, before beginning the combination of teleportation and walk that would bring her back to the Dursleys household.

She arrived late in the night, unlocked the door and managed to get to her bedroom without waking up her cousin, her aunt, or her uncle. She had managed to survive her first day in the magical world! Now she had to ensure it was going to stay that way for a long time.

* * *

 **4 August 1991, Unknown place**

"So the attempt at Gringotts failed, Knight Alchemist."

"A temporary setback, your Majesty. Our Pawn and his ally have infiltrated Hogwarts. Knight Summoner has prepared his trap for whoever is foolish enough to break into Brise-Roc again. The rest of our pieces are in place. Everything is still on schedule."

"I disagree. This 'ally' is a Dark Lord with delusions of grandeur, who believes he is destined to rule wizard kind. At the soonest opportunity, he will try to betray us. When the Stone is recovered, eliminate him."

"As you wish, your Majesty. Is there anything else?"

"Tell your Pawn he has a year to accomplish this mission. If he fails, death will be a mercy compared to his ultimate fate."

"I will relay your orders at once, your Majesty."


	4. Prepare for Hogwarts

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 4**

 **Prepare for Hogwarts**

 **28 August 1991, 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey**

Alexandra's last month with the Dursleys wasn't what she could call very enjoyable. True, Dudley was now scared of her, and believed she would use magic on him if he stayed in the same room with her. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's reaction to her official affiliation to the magical world was even more drastic: they didn't speak to her any more. Half-terrified, half-furious, they tried to act as if she didn't exist inside the boundaries of their home. Although this was an improvement in many ways considering the way she had been treated so many times in the last ten years, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Alexandra continued to stay outside number four Privet Drive the majority of the day. Early in the morning and late at night, she kept to her room, with her owl Atalanta for company and magic books as reading material. The school books she had bought were very interesting, and for the first time in her life she was really excited to go to begin her school year. The single fact that Dudley Dursley and his gang would be nowhere in the vicinity was enough to make the magical school attractive.

She also learnt that the haughty girl she met at the clothes shop had been correct: Hogwarts was divided into four houses, in the alphabetical order Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Their emblems were respectively a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake. Each new student entering the school was introduced to his new House at the "Sorting Ceremony", although _History of Hogwarts_ gave no details on how this selection was done. The book just listed the supposed qualities of each House: courage and nobility for Gryffindor, loyalty and hardworking for Hufflepuff, wisdom and intelligence for Ravenclaw and cunning and ambition for Slytherin. While the book described it as a perfect system, she already had her doubts: any person could be courageous in certain circumstances, and every human has an ounce of ambition in him. Even Dudley has the ambition to become larger than an elephant for example.

Unfortunately, while she marvelled for the most part in front of her school books, the surplus history books horrified her. When her account manager Grimjaw had given her the basics of the war, she had honestly thought the old goblin was exaggerating things. It appeared it was to the contrary: the situation had been completely desperate when she was one year old. The period between 1978 and 1981 was just a period of massacres, bloody ambushes and vicious battles between witches and wizards. Despite the huge amount of propaganda in it proclaiming victory was in sight, it gave her clues how bad the situation had been. Hundreds of casualties every month in the best of cases. Thousands when a major offensive or battle was fought. Studying the book she had taken on the so-called 'pureblood' magical families, the disaster was even more evident. For a war fought on the ideals of blood purity, a quarter of the pre-war nobility was outright extinct. Others, like Alexandra's own family, but also the Bones family, the Longbottom family and many others were reduced to one or two members for the main line with a few cousins to take the name if the persons carrying the name died without heirs.

There was also a heavy effort to present her father as the right hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort, despite the fact he was 'only' a spy, and apparently like all his family before him had fought for the so called 'Light side' for many generations. The Potter family descended from Linfred of Stinchcombe, a rather popular wizard of the twelfth century who had been credited for inventing so many potioneer recipes that he was known as 'The Potterer'. His helpful nature and his affability had made him so universally liked in the magical and non-magical communities that he was a reference in potions by the time he died, and his eldest son Hardwin took the name 'Potter' from an adaptation of the nickname 'Potterer'.

In the centuries which followed, the Potter family had generally been considered of an average standing in the ranks of the nobility, often standing on the frontlines when a threat to Magical England manifested itself. That James Potter had been sent to Azkaban prison without a trial and apparently on hearsay in spite of this positive reputation (the author of the book seemed perfectly happy to explain a certain Bartemius Crouch had passed a law in 1981 which authorised the authorities to send every suspect to prison without any need for evidence) did not give her a very positive appreciation of how justice worked in the magical word. Although Alexandra had to admit that with her experiences at the Dursleys she was hardly an impartial judge.

On the other hand it had motivated her enough, along with Accountant Grimjaw's warning, to take her magical and physical training seriously. For all she knew, she could be attacked as soon as she mounted on the train for Hogwarts. 'Running away from the danger' didn't look too good if (or when) she ran into trouble. Unfortunately, learning magic was extremely difficult. So far she had only managed to use a spell named _Fumos_ , which created a lot of smoke (extremely efficient to escape Dudley's gang but had the side effect of making Petunia scream because she believed there was a fire) and Petrificus Totalus, a spell which was known as the Full Body-Bind Curse in _Curses and Counter-Curses._ Piers Polkiss had been her 'volunteer' for this experience, and she had used real ropes to divert suspicions afterwards.

August passed at full speed, and soon there was only three days left until her departure to Hogwarts. As she had been informed by a letter carried by Atalanta, she was to be aboard the Hogwarts Express September the first. Of course for that to happen, she needed to be at King's Cross station where the platform 'Nine and Three Quarters' was. Who had thought of giving a platform such a name had been a question she'd not found the answer in History of Hogwarts.

As she had never been to that station before, teleportation would not be very useful and anyway she had a heavy trunk to carry with her, as there was no way she was leaving any of her clothes, money or other possessions at Privet Drive where the Dursleys could burn or destroy them. So she would need to use her uncle's car. Joy.

She went down to the living-room, where the entire Dursley family was watching a documentary on elephants on television. As they didn't even turn their eyes toward her when she entered the room, Alexandra cleared her throat to let them know she was there, and Dudley immediately screamed and ran from the room. Apparently he really feared her. Oh, well.

"Uncle Vernon?"

Her uncle grunted to show he was listening, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"I need to be at King's Cross station on September 1 to go to my new school."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Could you please transport me there?"

Grunt. Alexandra supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you." For once she was sincere, as she had not had to use threat, bribery or logic to force him. She would have to be more paranoid in the next days. Her chance was never that good, unless something bad was going to happen.

She had already turned her back and was about to go back to her room upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Alexandra didn't say anything. She supposed her uncle wouldn't be very interested to know that magic carpets had been forbidden after a rather intense lobby from the broom firms in 1954. _History of Hogwarts_ was full of anecdotes like that.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"In Northern Scotland," said Alexandra, thanking the fact her history book had that information. Else she would not be in the process of stealing warm clothes. "But I just have to take the train at King's Cross which leaves at eleven o'clock."

"Barking," growled her uncle, "Howling mad, the lot of them, having a school so far north. You'll see. You just wait. All right, I'll take you to King's Cross in three days. I'm going up to London on September first anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

That sounded more like the uncle she knew.

"Why are you going to London?" Alexandra asked, trying to keep things civil if not friendly.

"A meeting with a big client for Grunnings," said Uncle Vernon. "We'll drop you off at King's Cross before going there."

* * *

 **1 September 1991, Hogwarts Express**

Alexandra woke at five o'clock the morning of September 1 as she was too excited and too nervous to sleep any more. She got up and pulled on a shirt and jeans since walking in a non-magical station in wizard's clothes would be the height of idiocy. The robes bought at Diagon Alley were a century out of fashion. She would change into her school uniform's clothes on the train, going to Scotland, the journey was certainly going to last the entire afternoon. She checked her Hogwarts list yet again and her entire bedroom to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Anything left there would be at the mercy of Dudley for more or less nine months. To use a military term, it would end up missing in action. Or killed in action.

Atalanta was sent directly to Hogwarts, as she would attract too much attention at the station and Alexandra had not bought a cage for her. Then she waited for the Dursleys to wake up. Two hours later, Alexandra's huge, brand-new trunk had been loaded into Vernon's car, and they set off for King's Cross. They reached King's Cross at ten o'clock. Uncle Vernon dumped Alexandra's trunk onto a trolley and then drove away at full speed, considering he had done his 'familial duty' towards her done.

Entering the station, she was stunned by the noise and the crowd in it. King's Cross Station was probably the busiest place in all of London. It was full of regular people going about their lives, rushing around to catch their trains. Thousands of people. And she was supposed to find her way in this rush? She had never had a reason to go to King's Cross or any other major train station, not that the Dursleys would have wanted to take her to one anyway. So this was her first visit to this part of London. As a result, she was a bit lost in the first minutes, trying not to lose herself in the sights and sounds of the place, and avoiding the employees who would have asked problematic questions to a young girl traveling alone. It took her very little time to acknowledge that Privet Drive, for all its faults, was relatively calm and silent compared to this kingdom of clamor.

Following the instructions on her letter, she slowly made her way over to Platform nine and three quarters, which too predictably had its hidden entrance in a wall between platforms nine and ten. Walking through the barrier were people in robes and other outdated clothes, disappearing at regular intervals, and she realized that she was fifty minutes early as she glanced at the massive clock over her head. The silence was deafening compared to the noise and chaos on the other side of the entrance. The platform was almost empty, save a few families who had arrived in advance like her, but an old stream train was already there. To be clear, she had nothing against the nineteenth century's methods of transportation. However, the bright red and gold coloring the train was simply flashing, ridiculous and aggressive to her eyes. If she had to bet some money, she would bet that a Gryffindor Headmaster had chosen to paint the train like this to exasperate his colleagues and his students. The only good point, as far as she could tell, was that only a blind student could miss it.

She got her trunk down out of the trolley and then proceeded to try to get it into the train. Needless to say, her strength wasn't enough, and after pushing the trunk in vain for the better part of five minutes she had to use her levitation skill to finally put it inside the wagon. Hopefully, getting her trunk out of the train would be simpler.

Most of the compartments were empty, as expected given how few people were on the platform. Choosing a compartment at the end of the train, she put her trunk in one corner of the compartment and opened it to take a book to read. With the need to change her robes before arrival at the school, she wouldn't put her trunk in a place she couldn't reach. Getting herself comfortable, she started to read _Curses and Counter-Curses_ for the fifth time. Not for long however, as more and more families entered the magical platform and her attention was kept more and more on the newcomers. Watching them, she couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. Unlike her, these children looked happy with those who accompanied them, they were not alone, and they had someone who cared about their education and well-being. All things which never entered the Dursleys' minds, she was sure. For a moment, she really desired to have a family. She briefly wondered if her mother would be proud of her, before dismissing the thought. Asking something to her mother was beyond her power forever.

With fifteen minutes left to go before departure, smoke from the steam engine drifted over the heads of the chattering and growing crowd. The platform was now the site of a gathering of hundreds of people, with more arriving every ten seconds. Each had their own style of wizarding clothes and brought plenty of animals with them. There were cats of every colour, owls of every species. Toads were rare and far between, especially compared to the felines and the birds, but there were also animals which didn't enter any of the categories authorised on the school letter, rabbits and guinea pigs among them.

Trunks were loaded inside the compartments, students came aboard, and the train began to quickly fill itself. She saw a boy with dreadlocks surrounded by many others, opening a box containing a tarantula and unleashing a torrent of screams. Apparently some students felt species like owls were just too tame. The people around the tarantula shrieked and yelled when half of the spider's body started to move and poked outside the box.

Five minutes before eleven o'clock, the activity on the platform grew even more intense, as a round-faced, chubby-built kid with dark brown hair and a lightning scar on his forehead arrived on the platform. He was followed a very old woman carrying a dead vulture on her hat, several other wizards and dozens of fans and journalists (with their outdated cameras, no need to ask who they were). Hearing half of the platform shout "It's Longbottom!" all but confirmed it was indeed the famous and only Boy-Who-Lived, Neville Longbottom himself. From what she could view from the train, the boy seemed to deliberately attract attention while continuing towards the middle of the platform with a pace which would have made many VIP's in the non-magical world jealous. Alexandra had read in some books her family and Neville's had been political allies, but seeing the adulation directed towards him, she realized he profited completely from an event where his parents had ended up dead. Not a good point in her mind.

A minute or so after, another family, this one completely ignored by the rest of the platform arrived to the platform. There were a lot of kids coming together, all had red hair and similar faces affirming there were from the same family.

"Mom – geroff!"

There were five in total, a slightly fat woman with a nice smile on her face and motherly air about her, two older boys who looked like identical twins and displayed the air of persons about to play a prank on someone, a girl who looked to be around a year younger than Alexandra, and the last was the boy she assumed had just spoken. The boy looked to be around her age, but was at least three or four inches taller than Alexandra, and he was quite homely looking. Big hands, big feet, a long nose and ginger hair.

Apparently, said family was not wealthy, as the wizard robes they wore looked old and worn. Probably second hand robes from Madam Malkin's she figured, or another cheap shop of Diagon Alley. In comparison, her robes, the basic normal model, looked perfect. This family was without doubt having money problems with the education of their children. Hogwarts wasn't cheap after all. Alexandra had questioned her Gringotts account manager by letter on the subject, and she had been grateful when she heard her parents had paid her complete tuition at birth. The pile of gold she would have spent otherwise would have made a significant hole in her trust vault.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" asked one of the twins in a teasing voice. Definitely older brothers, Alexandra smiled, she had seen many siblings at Little Whinging and she recognised the signs.

"Shut up," said the one Alexandra had learnt was "Ronnie".

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy, red-haired like the others came striding into sight, raising the number of the red-haired family to six. The newcomer had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Alexandra noticed a shiny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it. The insignia had been heavily polished, as it shone brilliantly under the September morning sun.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said in a formal and pompous voice which reminded Alexandra some of the clients who were full of themselves that Vernon had received in his living room. "I'm up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –"

So the symbol P was the Prefect insignia. _Good to know_ thought Alexandra, _I really intend to avoid the people carrying them if they're all like you_. She quickly grew bored of the speech from the older teenager, and decided to go back to her reading.

The train began to move when there was a knock on the door, Alexandra spoke a loud "Enter!" which was followed up by the door opening. Alexandra raised her eyes from her book to watch the person entering. It was a boy who looked about her age, with dark skin and slanted eyes. He had short black hair, and wore what happened to look like extremely costly clothes, the black school uniform in a sort of velvet with everything visible under it in the same material. She grimaced internally, knowing that the boy was certainly belonged to the same category of "haughty and arrogant" she had met at Madam Malkin's.

"Do you mind if I sit in your compartment?" he asked her in a bored, expressionless voice.

"No." she answered. While her reflex was to throw the boy out of her compartment, the fact was this boy was a first-year like her, and if she began to insult or lash out at every person she met, she wasn't going to make a lot of friends at Hogwarts. They could be in the same House at the end of the day for all she knew.

The dark-skinned boy nodded at her politely and then sat in the opposite seat, directly facing her.

Not ten seconds had passed when a second person knocked at the door of the compartment, but this time the knock was more brutal, and she had no time to answer in any way. The youngest red-haired boy she had watched on the platform barged in at full speed, breathing loudly like he had run a marathon.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked without bothering with a hello or apologising for his lack of manners, pointing at the seat next to Alexandra. "Everywhere else is full."

"That's impossible." Replied the dark-skinned boy. "The Hogwarts Express is magically conceived to expand and take all the Hogwarts students, no matter their number." His voice, soft, and cultured with a trace of foreign accent, turned rather sarcastic after that. "Are you sure you did not enter the first compartment you found?"

The red-haired boy appeared monumentally embarrassed, as his face became as red as his hair. He was more or less looking like a tomato, reflected Alexandra. Pity she didn't have a camera to take the photo. Too bad the moment of shame he felt didn't last more than an instant too.

"Zabini..." seethed the red-hair boy with a voice which suggested the two boys weren't going to shake hands and discuss pleasantries for the next hour. "Did your mother marry another man to steal his fortune? Which number is it? Fifth, this time?"

"At least my family has a fortune Weasley." The dark-skinned boy answered coldly, but with his fists tightening, it seemed the argument had not fallen off its mark."Seeing you dressed in these clothes make me wonder how far your House has fallen."

At this, Weasley appeared to be ready to strike Zabini, but the latter held his wand to the former's face, forcing him to withdraw rapidly from the compartment. Zabini then closed the door.

"Thanks for your help," the dark-skinned boy affirmed humorously.

"You seemed to handle the matter well," Alexandra retorted, shrugging. "But thanks anyway. I don't think I would have been able to read while Red hair was in this compartment."

"Typical Ravenclaw material," sighed the dark-skinned boy, causing Alexandra to raise an eyebrow. "Red hair's name is Weasley, Ronald Weasley, and he's a first year just like us." Zabini grimaced. "His family is considered a bit of a joke, since they are as pure-blooded as possible, but poor as dirt. And of course their tendency to have a lot of children doesn't help."

"Five kids is a lot?"

"Oh there are seven children, not five. Two are already out of Hogwarts, I'm told. The one you have just met begins this year with us. The last one, a girl, will enter next year."

Alexandra was rather impressed by the size of the Weasley family. The biggest one she had ever met before today had been two parents and four children who lived half a mile away from the Dursleys' house in Privet Drive. Nevertheless, while having so many kids was admirable, it was certainly a drain in terms of tuitions and school supplies.

"But I didn't present myself. I am Zabini. Blaise Zabini. Heir to the Most Noble House of Zabini." He declared in a rather noble tone, flashing his family ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

"Alexandra Potter," she replied. "Heiress to the Most Ancient House of Potter." And she flashed her Heiress ring in the same way he had.

For a moment, the dark-skinned boy in front of her stayed completely still with wide eyes and an open jaw. Then he retook his cold, calm appearance.

"You know, rumours affirmed you were dead." And his voice didn't show any sign he was joking.

"I'm feeling really alive, thanks," she replied.

Alexandra had thought the conversation would continue after that, but Blaise Zabini seemed to believe he had talked enough with her, although he continued to stare at her for twenty seconds or so before opening his trunk to read a magazine. Zabini didn't utter one more word for the rest of the trip.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Alexandra had had a very light breakfast, and so she stood, noticing the boy in front of her did not, instead unravelling some food he had brought with him.

Not knowing the food of the wizarding world and suddenly having a lot of money in her life, she bought two sandwiches and then a bit of every sweet that was available. New names, as the woman had never heard about Mars bars or their equivalent, having instead Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and a number of other strange things she had never dreamed could be real in the realm of sweets. She paid the woman fifteen Sickles and seven Knuts for her food purchases.

"Hungry, are you?" said Blaise, seeing her return with a mountain of food in the compartment.

"What gave it away?" she replied, beginning to eat her first sandwich without losing time.

Once she had eaten the sandwiches, she started with the Chocolate Frogs, which the name of appeared to be taken literally: the first she opened slipped out of the packet and she wasn't able to catch it before it escaped out the compartment window. This sweet gave the possibility of collecting cards of famous wizards and witches along the way and she got the cards of Agrippa, Dumbledore, Morgana, Circe, Paracelsus, Helga Hufflepuff and Merlin. Said pictures didn't stay put in photos, which was a shock to say the least.

She had not so much a good time eating the Every-Flavour Beans. Apparently, her bad luck had returned in strength and she got things as horrible as vampire's blood, worm, grass, burned bread, and turned milk.

While she ate, she noticed there weren't any houses or any type of human constructs in the countryside any more. If anything, it convinced Alexandra she was entering a new world, where plantations, harvested fields, and towns had no place. The only things now which could be seen were rivers, woods and hills. Seeing nothing spectacular, she took back her book and started to read again.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a young brown-haired boy came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When both Zabini and she shook their heads negatively, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Alexandra.

"Yes," said the boy, who in her opinion looked pathetic like that. "Well, if you see him …"

He left.

"Don't know why he's crying," said Blaise, snickering. "Toads went out of fashion two centuries ago."

She had had just read one more page of her book when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had brought a girl with him. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes, which looked to be the same model as Alexandra's.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Nigel's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Alexandra, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the book in Alexandra's hands.

"That book isn't on Hogwarts list for first years," she said. "Where did you..."

Alexandra cut her off mid sentence. Rarely had she seen anyone so ready to comply with rules and edicts, but that didn't mean she had not seen the type at Saint Gregory's.

"I bought it with my own money. It's mine. And this is not a banned book. So can you please close the door so I can continue my reading?"

The girl looked taken aback, as if all the people she had met before them in the train had authorised her to barge into a compartment and carry out judgment on her fellows.

"Err – all right." The bushy haired cleared her voice. She cleared her throat.

"Anyway, we'd better go and look for Nigel's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toad-less boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Alexandra, sighing, putting back her wand back into her pocket. That girl looked like the kind of person who was a total teacher's pet, but every other student would not stand a single minute of before committing a crime.

"Mudblood." Blaise muttered viciously before plunging back into the lecture of one of his magazines.

An hour passed, and it got dark enough that the Hogwarts Express turned its magical lights on. Knowing there was a good chance their destination was near now, Alexandra sent Blaise out of the compartment while she changed her clothes and put on her long black robe and the rest of her uniform. Due to the approaching night, the only thing that could now be seen of the countryside were mountains and a big forest. The train also appeared to decrease in speed regularly.

Just as she looked out the window a second time, a loud voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Alexandra felt suddenly nervous, and seeing how Blaise paled, she knew the boy was no stranger to the feeling of being ill-at-ease either. Both put their belongings in their respective trunks before locking them. She noticed her security system seemed to take longer to lock than Blaise's as he sang a short sentence in a language which sounded like Italian. Was her system of lock more complex than his or did the foreign tongue make things more difficult?

The train slowed down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Alexandra shivered in the cold night air despite her warm robe. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and she heard a loud voice: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"

What appeared in her field of vision was without a doubt the biggest man she had ever seen. There was no way the colossus calling them could be a simple man. He was the size of at least two men, two great men. An ogre? A giant?

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, the first years followed the giant man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Alexandra thought there must be thick trees there. Blaise followed her and did not speak at all. The boy named Nigel, who she had already catalogued as 'the boy who kept losing his toad', sniffed once or twice on her right.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," called the giant over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast and beautiful castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" The huge man called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Alexandra and Blaise were followed into their boat by Nigel and the bushy girl, who glared pointedly at Alexandra. She had apparently not forgotten their last conversation. Too bad.

"Everyone in?" Shouted the giant, who had taken a boat for himself, a necessary thing considering his size, "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once without any sign of outside help, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" Yelled their guide as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which revealed a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" Said the giant, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Glob!" Cried Nigel blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after the man's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

The huge man then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	5. Explosive Beginnings

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 5**

 **Explosive Beginnings**

 **1 September 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and a very rigid posture. Alexandra knew someone strict when she was looking at one, and she knew in an instant the woman before her had not a drop of humour in her whole body.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant man.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," replied the woman, who by her name had to be the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

The teacher pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fit two whole houses like the Dursleys' in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was way too high to figure out its height, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Alexandra could clearly hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school no doubt was already here waiting for them – but Professor McGonagall pulled the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Nigel's cloak, which was fastened under his right ear, on Ronald Weasley's smudged nose and several boys who had adopted rather strange hair styles.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber.

Alexandra took a moment to look around. Now that they were all gathered in one place, she could tell there were between forty and fifty new students to be sorted with her. She noticed the pure-blood princess with long blond hair and ice eyes she had met at Madam Malkin's was in the back of the crowd, while Neville Longbottom the Boy-Who Lived was already soaking up attention by chatting with several boys, which seemed to include Ronald Weasley. A thin blond boy was flanked by two boys who looked like his bodyguards. The bushy-haired girl who had helped Nigel was whispering something at full speed as if her life depended on it.

Alexandra felt her stomach tighten. For better or for worse, these were the wizards and the witches she was going to be in classes with. Why did she felt absolutely no enthusiasm at this very idea? She also had no idea what House she was going to be in. Hufflepuff was all about loyalty and hardwork, and she had to admit she did not fit in the mould. She could be loyal to herself, she supposed, but she had never trusted anyone in her ten years with the Dursleys. Too many children had abandoned her when Dudley and his gang chased her for her to have any friends in school, and she had never respected any teacher as they tended to bow before her Uncle Vernon.

Gryffindor was all about nobility and courage, but most of her solutions facing someone stronger than her was to flee, and she stole to live better. There was no honour in what she did, only survival.

She supposed she was a bit intelligent and liked reading, so maybe she could be a Ravenclaw? She didn't think she would really fit in Slytherin: her ambitions were relatively modest once said, and she did not have the cunning of a politician. Then again, neither did most of the children who were waiting with her here.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" She heard the voice of an unknown boy behind her.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking," replied Weasley.

Alexandra restrained herself from drawing her wand and cursing Weasley here and now. They were eleven years old children! No one was going to make them do something dangerous, not in front of hundreds of students. Then again, when she heard the red-hair boy speaking about "trolls", she wondered if there was a fifth house for stupid people. Some children in this crowd looked like they would have been sorted there in the blink of an eye.

Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead them to their sorting and destiny.

Then something happened which made her jump about a foot in the air – several people behind her screamed or shouted.

"What the –?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty white beings had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. Ghosts. They seemed to be arguing about something. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance..."

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. Funny.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me."

Alexandra got into the line between one of the bodyguard-type boys and before a girl who looked really, well, massive. Perhaps she was the magical girl equivalent of Dudley Dursley? All the line began to walk out of the chamber, went back in the hall and then, passing a pair of huge double doors, they entered the Great Hall.

It was a marvel of magic. Lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were laid with shining golden plates, cups, forks and knives. At the top of the Hall was another long table where all the adults, about thirty teachers all told, were sitting. Professor McGonagall led all her group up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked rather like pale lanterns in the lights of the candles. Dispersed among the students, the ghosts shone a pale silver. Alexandra looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard the bushy-haired girl not far from her whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Alexandra had read it too, but reading about a thing and seeing it for real were far different things. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall wasn't just simply open to the sky.

Ceasing her observation of her surroundings, she quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of her group. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat looked like it had seen better days: it was patched and frayed and looked dirty. Petunia would have had a stroke at the very idea of wearing it.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Weasley said to a boy at the back of her group. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Alexandra smiled openly despite the stress. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to fight a monster, but giving the supposed popularity of her family at this moment, she wished she was not forced to do it in front of the whole school.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table just on their right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Alexandra saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Black, Leo!"

A black-haired boy with a mischievous smile advanced and put the hat on his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" exclaimed the hat, and the table on the extreme right of the Hall burst into applause. Was it her imagination or were all the Slytherin looking at the first-year with looks full of hate?

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first girl to go to Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" the large girl who had been behind her marched to the hat and then became a Slytherin.

The sorting continued putting the twins sisters Flora and Hestia Carrow in Slytherin, Michael Corner and Stephen Cornfoot in Ravenclaw, Vincent Crabbe and Tracey Davis in Slytherin. Fay Dunbar was sorted into Gryffindor, Kevin Entwhistle into Ravenclaw.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The hat had taken a whole minute to decide for this boy, she noticed. For some boys or girls, the sorting seemed to be quasi-instantaneous, while for others it could take a minute or more to decide.

"Finnigan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost two minutes before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. Antony Goldstein went to Ravenclaw and the bodyguard boy who had been before her, "Goyle, Gregory" went to Slytherin. Strange, she wouldn't have imagined the boy as cunning or even ambitious.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy-haired girl who had helped Nigel on the train ran without any decency to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Alexandra was surprised. She would have rather put the girl into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor.

"Greengrass, Daphne!" the blond-haired girl who had insulted her at Madam Malkin marched with the style one expected of a princess to the stool and the hat didn't waste any time to scream "SLYTHERIN!" Alexandra groaned, now she really wanted to avoid Slytherin!

The following kids were not known to her: Thelma Holmes went to Gryffindor, Megan Jones and Wayne Hopkins to Hufflepuff, Su Li to Ravenclaw.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The round boy marched to the stool with the arrogance of a chief of state, while the Hall was consumed by whispers and cheers. To everyone's surprise, the sorting took rather long, as the Boy-who-Lived seemed to argue with the hat. Finally the magical artefact screamed "GRYFFINDOR", looking really unhappy. The Gryffindor table burst into cheers and a thunder of applause welcomed him. All the Prefects shook his hand like if they were meeting a VIP, and the Weasley twins shouted "We got Longbottom! We got Longbottom!"

The sorting of Ernest Macmillan to Hufflepuff was lost in the clamours for the Hero. Alexandra noticed the three other Houses looked disgruntled to not have welcomed the Boy-Who-Lived into their ranks.

The thin blond boy named Draco Malfoy swaggered forward at a pace that showed a lot of arrogance when his name was called and the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" He went to join his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle, looking very pleased with himself.

The minutes after that saw many people sent to Hufflepuff, with the twins Leanne and Roger Malone. Moral MacDougal was sorted into Ravenclaw. Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson to Slytherin. Another set of twins, this time of Indian ancestry, named Parvati and Padma Patil were sorted, Parvati going to Gryffindor while Padma went to Ravenclaw. Sally-Anne Perks went to Ravenclaw. And then at last-

"Potter, Alexandra!"

The mutters and whispered conversations around the hall ended abruptly. The silence was deafening, and when Alexandra started to walk towards the stool, she heard several of the Gryffindor at the opposite side of the Hall whisper "traitor's daughter". She tightened her jaw, but she kept her head high and marched to the stool.

The last thing she saw before the hat covered her eyes was the hateful looks being directed at her.

"Interesting, very interesting," came a deep rich voice in her ears. "Lots of talent, yes. Not a bad mind, either, and a nice thirst to survive challenges, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?"

Alexandra thought "Where should I go?"

"The worst choices, though it will not surprise you, would be Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. You have no loyalty to anyone but yourself, and if I put you with the Lions there will be a massacre before the week is over. You are very well suited for Slytherin, dear, but you're not cruel, vicious or ruthless enough to join them and thrive through the challenges they would make against you. That only leaves ..."RAVENCLAW"!

This last word was shouted to the whole hall, but unlike the others, this was not met with cheers, just a deep silence. A lone girl at the Ravenclaw table cheered, but she stopped quickly when she saw she was the only one.

Face entirely blank, Alexandra stepped down from the stool and sat at the table of Blue and Bronze, noticing all the Ravens in proximity to her tried to get way as discreetly as possible, and failing miserably.

There were only few people left to be sorted now. Zacharias Smith to Hufflepuff. Dean Thomas to Gryffindor. Lisa Turpin to Ravenclaw. Byron Vaisey to Slytherin.

Then it was Ronald Weasley's turn, and she noticed the hat send him almost immediately to the Gryffindor table before it had even been fully installed on his head. What sort of nobility the hat had seen in him, she had no idea.

Nigel Wolpert, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called and he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with him she noticed. When it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR", Nigel ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to Blaise Zabini.

She would have enjoyed the boy who had been in her compartment with her to be in the same House, at least to have a familiar face, but alas he was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Now that the sorting was over and she had no one near her, she could see the high table where the teachers sat. At one extremity was the giant named Hagrid, while at the other sat a woman who appeared to be a nurse or its magical equivalent. There were men and women, although a man with greasy hair, a nervous young man with a violet turban and the Headmaster stood out. Albus Dumbledore, she thought, was really someone who looked like Gandalf in the books of Tolkien or Merlin in the legends of the Round Table Knights should look like. The colour of his hair and his beard was a deep silver, shining like mystic silver candles and projecting a sort of serene aura around him.

As the Headmaster got to his feet, silence fell upon the Great Hall. He beamed at the students, his arms opened wide and he spoke.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. A lot of people clapped and cheered. Alexandra face palmed. Was her new headmaster playing the role of an idiot, or was he completely senile? Even with her limited knowledge of the world, she knew such a speech was the best way to kill any form of authority held by the adults over the students. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

When the shining gold dishes were suddenly piling with food, she put the sanity of her new Headmaster on the backburner for now. She was very hungry, but fortunately there was more food on the Ravenclaw table than what Dudley and her uncle ate in a year. Roast beef, roast chicken, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, fish, eggs, and some other meals she wasn't able to name as she hadn't seen them before in her life.

The Dursleys had never managed to starve Alexandra, but she would lie if she said she had been able to grab the quantity of food she wanted for every meal in some fashion or another. If they ate every day like this, she thought she could very well adapt to Hogwarts. Well, she would have exercise a lot to not become fat, but it would be worth it.

Frowning while eating a large piece of beef, she wondered if it was the "every day" part which was going to cause problems. Watching the length of the Ravenclaw table, she was instantly able to divide her new House into three categories: the ones who watched her with fear, the ones who watched her with anger and hate, and the ones who looked completely indifferent or curious about her.

But that last category was an endangered species, she remarked sadly. Most who had watched her in an innocent manner were her fellow first-years, and if their faces as the dinner passed were a clue, the upper-years were doing a nice turn to turn them against her. It looked like it was going to be Saint Gregory's all over again, only this time it would not be only Dudley and his gang leading the hunt but witches and wizards.

She was going to be in danger, she realised internally a bit too calmly as the desserts appeared, dozens of puddings, ice-creams, tarts, chocolates and doughnuts to finish this copious dinner. If she judged correctly the situation and the threatening looks some Ravenclaws threw her, she was not going to last the week unharmed. In fact, she realised she would be lucky if they didn't attack her before she went to bed tonight. The whispers between some students looked really bad, and they didn't look like people who were discussing their holidays. More like a punitive expedition or a murder, and she as the black sheep of Hogwarts was the enemy number 1 on their list.

The only advantage she saw was that these older students ignored she had practised magic. They ignored everything of her magical skills, of course the reverse was also true. If she defeated them badly in the first skirmish, there was a probability they would back down for a time, giving her the opportunity to learn more powerful magic to defend herself. Probably. Hopefully.

Lost in these not-comforting thoughts, she nearly missed the moment when the remains of the food faded from the plates (and the disappointed cry of Ronald Weasley who appeared to be an even worse case at dinner than Dudley Dursley), the puddings and the rest of the desserts disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

 _Formidable_ , she thought. Had the man learnt nothing? Knowing from experience at her former school and Dudley's activities, the best way to make sure a kid would do something is to tell him it's forbidden. The more she heard from the Headmaster, the less she appreciated the man.

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

This time Alexandra couldn't avoid laughing. The man was officially either mad or an imbecile. She didn't know how things worked out in the magical world, but in the non-magical, a teacher or a headmaster speaking like that was retired immediately if he was lucky. Already, she saw some kids at the Gryffindor table discussing if they would go, giving an idea that this warning had been perceived as a challenge.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" affirmed enthusiastically Dumbledore. Alexandra noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become frosty, if not outright frigid. The man with the greasy hair looked like he was about to vomit.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And to the horror of Alexandra the school shouted in a voice able to wake up the dead:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

This was not music in her opinion. It was a cacophony of infernal proportions, and she noticed none of the Slytherins participated in it, apparently recognising the bad taste of singing this musical atrocity. Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march, which Alexandra found singularly appropriate. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Alexandra stood and then like the other Ravenclaw first-years followed a prefect girl with blond hair through the crowd and out of the Great Hall. As they walked past dozens of portraits and suits of armour, she felt her worries decrease. No one attacked her, no one shouted any more "traitor!" at her again. Perhaps, as they went up another stair, she had been too pessimistic concerning her new housemates.

She was wondering just how much distance was left when after a few minutes of walking they came to a halt in front of a door with no keyhole and no handle. The door had nothing but an eagle-shaped bronze knocker.

The female prefect turned towards them and said, "This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower. You have to knock and the door guardian will ask a question or a riddle, which you will have to answer, otherwise you won't gain entrance. If you don't know the answer, wait for another student to come along or go to our Head of House."

She proceeded to give them a demonstration "What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?" The answer given was: "A towel." And after giving the right answer, the eagle knocker let them pass.

Alexandra was in the back of the first year group and so got her first glance of the Ravenclaw common room when everyone had already entered. The room could be best described as an "airy" room with many arched windows overlooking the surrounding mountains, all hung with heavy bronze and blue curtains, matching their house colours. The ceiling was domed and painted blue with twinkling stars on it. The floor was covered by midnight-blue carpet. The room was filled with fat and cushy armchairs that looked quite comfortable to just sit in and read a book. The room also seemed to be circular in shape, showing that it was indeed on the inside of the Ravenclaw tower, while there were several stairs leading up to the student dorms. There was a white statue of Rowena Ravenclaw beside the entrance to the dorm, one of the Hogwarts the founder of Ravenclaw house.

The male prefect called for their attention, "Members of Ravenclaw House are famed for our intelligence, and as such we have two students per room, while other houses have to share. This is so you can read and study without troubling all your year mates. As you learn more spells, you will be encouraged to improve and customize your room."

"Each year has its own group study period, along with their own older student, acting as a mentor, who will be tasked with helping you." He gestured to the surrounding Ravens, who were watching their new household mates with interest.

"Now, the girl's dorms are over there," the prefect said, pointing to a set of stairs, then pointing at another set in the other corner, "And those are the guy's dorms. While I remember, I suggest you reread your potion books, because you have potions tomorrow morning and our senior potion master loves to take house points for failing to answer his questions." He then dismissed them to find their own rooms.

Alexandra breathed. Maybe it wasn't going to be too bad, after all. Unfortunately, she had not made three steps in the stair's direction before a large hand held her robe by the back and forced her to stop.

"Where do you think you are going, Potter?" the hateful voice of what looked to be a fourth-year boy asked her.

Turning completely to see the boy, she saw her interlocutor had a face twisted in loathing and anger. It looked like her worst suspicions had been verified. The circle formed by several older Ravenclaws, all having their wands drawn, confirmed she had walked right into an ambush.

"I'm Alex Sykes, Potter." the older boy drawled, drawing his wand at the same time."And I'm going to make you pay for what you did to my father!"

"I'm sorry," Alexandra replied. "But I'm not my father."

She watched the eyes of the boy, full of anger, and realised she had as much chance reasoning with him right now as she had reasoning with Dudley Dursley when he wanted food. None. She saw the blond prefect girl who had led them to the common room running out of the door, perhaps to warn the teachers, but she had the bad feeling they would arrive too late.

"Now, you're going to pay, traitor!" shouted Sykes."REDUC...!"

Alexandra didn't give him the time to finish whatever spell he wanted to hit her with. As he was literally close enough to look her in the blank of the eye, she threw him a punch to the nose, while at the same time grabbing his wand and throwing it away. She gave him a second kick, this time at the place no human being wants to receive a strike, and Sykes fell to the floor, screaming as if she had killed him.

"Well?" she said to the other Ravenclaws, drawing her wand in a defensive posture."Can we discuss, now?"

Apparently, as she saw their faces turn red and their jaws tighten in anger, it had been the wrong thing to say. She had just enough time to launch a quick "FUMOS!" before the avalanche of spells started.

The smoke created gave her enough time to throw herself behind an armchair, and the battle began. Alexandra had never participated in a real battle between witches and wizards, but she realised quickly, neither had her opponents, judging by their lack of accuracy and pathetic sense of tactics.

Throwing spell after spell of Fumos and Petrificus Totalus from behind the armchair, she misdirected a large demonstration of magic trying to hit her into missing her completely. The Ravenclaw common room was now completely lost in the smoke and the spells came from every side at once, forcing her to roll, jump or put the armchair between herself and the spells.

She lost completely the notion of time. A red-white spell only narrowly missed her and shredded the armchair in a loud explosion, tossing her away in the middle of the common room. She fell badly on her right leg, and only moments later she felt a sharp sensation of pain. She shouted, hurling into the smoke another Petrificus Totalus, and hearing a crash. She had hit someone. She threw another two Fumos in rapid succession trying to get away from the fighting, but her leg felt heavy, too heavy for her to move, forcing her to crawl desperately for a corner. Over her, she saw an older boy being propelled into a section of the Ravenclaw common library, striking it, and being buried under a large amount of books.

She grimaced, but she continued throwing the only two spells she knew in rapid succession, she had to survive, she had to last a bit longer...

"FINITE INCANTATEM!"

All the smoke cleared completely at once, only for Alexandra to find herself face to face with an Alex Sykes who looked like hell, his nose and the rest of his face covered in blood.

"Now you die!" He snarled, pointing his wand towards her head.

But apparently, he was too slow to act. A red beam of magic took him in the stomach and slammed him on the opposite wall where he too fell on his back, clearly unconscious.

All was too fuzzy for her now, she realised. Looking at her leg which appeared having taken a nasty blow, she thought she had lost a lot of blood. Her last coherent thought before closing her eyes was that her first day at Hogwarts really could have gone better.

* * *

 **1 September 1991, Unknown place**

"Our Pawn has successfully infiltrated himself into Hogwarts, your Majesty."

"Has he located the Stone?"

"Yes, but the Headmaster has put several traps and wards around the place in question. Bypassing them without Dumbledore being aware of the intrusion is going to require time and preparation."

"As expected. Tell him he has until the end of the school year to complete his mission. And Knight Alchemist?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"Don't expect me to tolerate another failure."

"Of course, your Majesty."


	6. First Day and First Challenges

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 6**

 **First Day and First Challenges**

 **2 September 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Alexandra woke up with the sun the next morning, feeling surprisingly relaxed and rested. She was lying on a bed with white linen sheets, in a room with white halls. As her last memories of the night before progressively came back, she realized to her surprise she was not dead and had to be in the infirmary of Hogwarts. White beds; the odour of disinfectant and the cleanliness were universal apparently, magical world or non-magical world.

As she was looking at her surroundings, the woman she had determined to be the nurse at the Sorting Feast entered and checked her health with a series of spells, presenting herself as Madam Pomfrey, the School Nurse. After a brief medical check-up, she was then deemed to be healed sufficiently to leave the place.

Her trunk was not far from her bed, and she used it to change herself for her first day of school. Madam Pomfrey told her to leave her possessions here, as her Head of House would take the trunk with him later and deposit it in her bedroom once they had cleared the events of last night.

Pleased by this statement which implied she was not going to be expelled for the moment from Hogwarts, Alexandra changed her clothes, put her first-year books in her school bag, and left the infirmary. Hopefully, she would not return here for a long time. Hopefully.

"There, look."

"She is here!"

"They say she destroyed Ravenclaw common room by herself!"

"They say she beat her entire House without her wand!"

"Her eyes are able to launch Killing Curses!"

"How can she be that powerful?"

Whispers followed Alexandra from the moment she left the hospital wing heading for the Great Hall. People were staring and speaking in low tones in the corridors when she passed next to them. She tried not to curse or launch a series of insults. From what she overhead, the fight she had been involved in against the older Ravenclaws had already been leaked to all students, or at least rumours of it had spread thorough the school. She certainly hadn't grabbed the intestines of any person in this fight or tortured anyone, contrary to what a second-year girl pretended when she descended a succession of stairs.

As this was the hour to go to breakfast she had not a lot of difficulties to reach the Great Hall, even facilitated by the fact students were trying to get out of her way with a celerity that was outright impressive. But the effect was even more astounding when she passed the double doors of the Great Hall. Once the students realised she was here to eat, a large silence fell in the huge room, so evident it was downright shocking. She was literally able to march to a place in the middle of the Ravenclaw table while there was literally no sound at all coming from the two hundred or so students gathered there. Internally, she was stunned, through she tried not to show that outwardly on her face. Had she made that much of an impression last night on her opponents? As the Ravenclaw students sitting near her appeared to quickly flee when she began to eat, she had to consider the high possibility of the answer being 'Yes'.

Fortunately, this dreadful silence was broken by two Gryffindors, the two Weasley Twins, who rose and shouted in a single voice "HAIL THE DARK LADY ALEXANDRA POTTER!"

The majority of the Ravenclaw looked like they had forgotten to breath, terrified of her reaction. Seriously, what sort of mentality did they teach at this school?

She stood from her seat, raised her goblet and in her best cheerful tone she loudly proclaimed "Thank you minions! Now the Dark Side of the Joke is finally about to get unleashed!" Many in the Hall laughed, some having apparently recognised the Star Wars reference.

The twins answered by a military salute and a "Thank you, Milady!", and then the pair ran out of the hall. Seeing some teachers giving her a black eye and others looking very amused, she hoped she had not unleashed an even worst problem upon the school. Oh well. What's the worst which could happen?

The Weasleys Twins' reaction at least had the merit of making the atmosphere more pleasant, as conversations restarted and the rest of the students progressively forgot her. Except at her House table, where about half the Ravenclaws were watching her with looks that were fearful and panicked, while other Hogwarts students preoccupied themselves with their first day of courses at school, not with her presence. Which was just fine in her opinion.

As she went to eat a second slice of toast, a terrified second year, who looked like he had been forcibly volunteered for this special task, gave her the schedule for the first-years. At the same moment, a hundred or so owls streamed into the Great Hall, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages into their laps. No need to ask how the parents kept contact with their children. The frightened Ravenclaw profited from her distraction to run at full speed out of the Hall, and Alexandra glanced back to her schedule.

Monday: Potions (with Hufflepuff) Potions Lunch Charms (with Gryffindor)

Tuesday: Transfiguration (with Slytherin) Herbology (with Slytherin) Lunch History (with Gryffindor)

Wednesday: History Defence Against the Dark Arts (with Hufflepuff) Lunch Flying (with Hufflepuff) Astronomy (at night, with Slytherin)

Thursday:  free period Charms Lunch Transfiguration

Friday: free period Defence Against the Dark Arts Lunch Herbology

Today, she had a double class of Potions to begin with, then lunch and Charms to finish the day. One thing alarmed her, however: where were the other subjects she had taken for granted at St Gregory's? There was no class of Mathematics, no Literature, no option to learn a foreign language. Just Magic, Magic and Magic again. She supposed she would have to ask her Head of House the issue when she met him. Assuming, of course, she wasn't expelled before the first week was over for her 'little fight' last night.

Seeing the rest of her housemates rise and depart in the direction of a corridor in the back of the Great Hall, she put her schedule in her bag and abandoned the rest of her huge breakfast to follow them.

Seeing her classmates heading for the depths of Hogwarts, she realised the Potions lessons had to be in the dungeons of the school, which looked rather sinister and oppressing to her. The temperature was cold, colder than in the rest of the castle anyway, and there were very few torches or candles to lighten the way which made a sinister ambiance.

Entering the class with ten minutes to spare, she saw a classroom which looked like the nightmare of a mad scientist, with dead animals, skulls, and various slimy things. There were about twenty tables, which had two seats each. Too predictably, she found herself alone at her own table. Ten other Ravenclaws sat on the tables before her, trying their very best to ignore her. The Hufflepuff first years, who they had class with, occupied the right of the room.

The door opened suddenly, and the professor with greasy hair and piercing black eyes she had seen at the Sorting entered the classroom, dressed from top to bottom in black, with his black cape billowing in an impressive manner. The professor had not yet reached his desk when a Hufflepuff boy with blond hair ran into the classroom. At the sight of the nasty glare the teacher sent his way, the boy, named Zacharias Smith if she remembered correctly, stopped in his tracks.

"Late the first day of class, Smith?" snarled their Professor. "Ten points from Hufflepuff and be happy it isn't more. Sit down." The last two words were pronounced in an even colder tone, much like if the man had known Smith wanted to protest. Zacharias had indeed opened his mouth, but closed it after seeing the dark glare the Professor sent him and sat at the same table as Alexandra.

"For those of you who do not know," he looked toward the group of eleven-year-olds and Alexandra found herself shivering against the man's gaze. This man, she felt in her bones, was dangerous.

"I am Potions Master Severus Snape, Senior Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." With a flick of his wrist the door leading out of the class slammed shut with a dark crack, just as the bell rang. Several Hufflepuffs gulped. "As a rule, the Senior Professor of a fundamental subject at Hogwarts is your teacher for the first year in this school. This is not only to notice the true prodigies among the mediocre," he said in a soft voice, "but also to give you a proper understanding of the class and ensure you do not kill yourselves attempting to brew your first potion." This time the sarcasm in his voice was only barely veiled.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, which is a demanding art." His voice was louder this time.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." His voice had turned to disgust at the end, and it was not hidden in the slightest fashion. Somehow, she wondered what sort of school experiences made a man so bitter about teaching children.

Silence followed this little speech, and the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws looked ready to throw themselves under their desks to escape the eyes of Professor Snape.

"Clear your desks," Professor Snape said. He moved to stand at the blackboard and gazed down his nose at them. There was a sense of relief among the class when he called roll, even if each name was said with disdain or disgust. Sometimes he paused on a name to make a small grimace.

When he arrived at her name, he paused.

"Ah, yes," he said softly after she had answered with a simple "Present", "Alexandra Potter. Our new – Dark Lady." His voice was charged with derision, transferring perfectly how little he believed her to be dangerous.

After Lisa Turpin waved her hand to indicate her presence, the professor began to pace the length of the class.

"Smith," said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Zacharias's face took a livid colour, and after half a minute he barely managed to articulate "I don't know, Sir."

Professor Snape sneered. "Not only were you late, but you haven't bothered to open your Potions book before coming, have you, Smith?" Given the growing red spots on Zacharias's face, the assumption was likely to be correct.

"Let's try someone else. Potter! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of the goat, Sir," Alexandra replied. It had been one of the first things written in the first chapter of the potions ingredients book.

"Correct." The voice of her professor was disgruntled, giving her the feeling he believed Alexandra had a stroke of luck. Which was alas not far from the truth. She hadn't known the answer to Zacharias's question after all.

"Corner! What is peeled shrivelfig most commonly used in?"

The Ravenclaw boy at the first rank crumbled in his seat "No idea ... Sir."

The next ten minutes were a true academic massacre. Alexandra had read twice the two needed books for the class, which were _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore and _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger, and while she far from remembered their complete content, she was able to say the questions of their Potions Professor decreased in complexity as the minutes passed, not that her housemates from Ravenclaw or the Hufflepuffs seemed to notice. No one except her had managed to answer correctly a single question.

"Finch-Fletchley, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"One is a red flower, while the other is yellow?" said the black-haired Hufflepuff boy, in a tone which gave away he was absolutely not sure of his answer.

"Then explain me Finch-Fletchley, how the same plant can have two flowers of different colours?" Seeing the Hufflepuff staring open-mouthed, Professor Snape snarled "Close your mouth and take notes!" at Justin.

"For your information, Finch-Fletchley, monkshood and wolfsbane, are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

"Eleven points from Hufflepuff and ten points from Ravenclaw for not coming prepared in class!" added Snape. As there were eleven students of each House in the room, Alexandra figured, it was quite likely her good answer had avoided Ravenclaw to lose one more point. A small victory for her.

Alas, things didn't improve for the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws as the Potions lesson continued. Professor Snape ordered them to work in pairs, clean the cauldrons and their workspace, and told them to prepare a potion to cure boils, the instructions to make the potion magically revealing themselves on the blackboard with a flick of the Potions Master's wand. As no Ravenclaw wanted to be associated with her and there was an uneven number of students in her House, Alexandra found herself partnered with Zacharias Smith.

The Professor revealed himself hard on the nerves of the student making the potion: like a Nazgul, he swept around the cauldrons in his black cloak spreading an aura of terror, and made disparaging comments and critics about every potion. When it came to her, Snape's reaction was...weird. For a moment, it looked like the teacher wanted to scream at her, but the fury in his eyes vanished quickly transforming into an unfeeling mask, and he simply whispered a "Passable" before going to torment another Potion duo. A fortunate thing, seeing as Zacharias Smith had revealed himself to be completely useless in helping make the potion. The haughty Hufflepuff with blond hair and brown eyes refused to touch the snake fangs or the horned slugs, and when Alexandra gave him instructions, he tried to begin a debate if the move was justified, as if the instructions were just for fun and Zacharias was sufficiently knowledgeable in Potions to judge a Professor incompetent. In the end, she ended doing the entire potion by herself, with Zacharias Smith sulking in his corner and whispering unflattering comments she tried her best to ignore.

As a pink smoke rose from her cauldron and the potion took a blue colour, Snape came back and whispered a new "Passable", before saying in a snarl: "Three points from Hufflepuff, Smith! If you want to do nothing in a class of Potions, the door is in the other direction!" He had just finished pronouncing these words when the cauldron of the pair of Wayne Hopkins and Roger Malone melted and the failed potion seeped across the floor, burning holes like acid. A powerful acid. In an instant, all the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were standing on their personal stool, except Roger Malone, who had been drenched by his potion and had now huge red boils springing up all over his body. Alexandra grimaced, the boils were rather big and the Hufflepuff was groaning in pain. Evidently, it seemed even a simple potion of first year-level could create significant damage.

"Stupid boys!" roared thunderously Snape, vanishing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand, leaving only the ruin of the Hufflepuff cauldron as witness to the disaster that had just happened. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

The voice of the teacher was more rhetorical than a true question, she noted. The two Hufflepuffs were likely not the first to make such a mistake. Wayne nodded, as Roger was crying on the floor.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Wayne. "Three points from Hufflepuff."

The Potions class ended shortly after that. Of the eleven pairs of students, only she and the pair of Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot seemed to have functional potions in their cauldrons. Or at least Potions which didn't make Professor Snape make an insulting comment. As a result, the two Hufflepuffs and she were spared writing a five inch essay on what went wrong in their work. They still got five inch essay on what could be improved in the Boil Cure for the next week, though.

When the entire class left the classroom in the dungeons, she noticed her reputation at Hogwarts had already fallen further. Zacharias Smith was already shouting to his housemates she was "horrible" and "dark", while her fellow Ravenclaws looked at her with faces divided between envy and hate to have the temerity to correctly prepare her potion when they couldn't.

Lunch after that was much like breakfast all over again, except someone (no doubt the Weasley twins ) had had the time to charm and raise a large banner proclaiming "WELCOME THE DARK LADY TO HOGWARTS!" over the Ravenclaw table. The Slytherins looked like they found the whole affair very funny, but the three other tables, in particular the Ravenclaws, watched her as if she was going to attack them at any moment. Alexandra didn't stay in the hall a moment longer than she had to. Putting her school bag over her shoulder, she went in the direction of the Charms class.

Finding the Charms corridor was difficult, as the stairs moved by themselves and not in any logical direction she could guess. Not knowing any short-cuts, Alexandra arrived only with five minutes to spare after having climbed five endless stairs. As she sat on the first row of desks, she saw she was still one of the first students to arrive, only being preceded by Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert from Gryffindor. Half a minute later, all the Ravenclaws entered the room, followed as the bell rang by the Gryffindors, who had managed to arrive just as the last second. The Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom was not among them, and neither was Ronald Weasley. Once again, her fellow students sat as far away as possible from her, leaving her alone in her section of the first row, and the Gryffindors took seats on the other side of the classroom. And she thought the Lions were supposed to be courageous. Well, braver than the Ravenclaw at least.

As the teacher prepared to present himself, the door opened again, with Neville Longbottom, Leo Black and Ronald Weasley rushing into the class, looking like they had raced all the way from the Great Hall to be more or less on schedule.

"Try to be on time next time, boys!" The teacher said in a fluted tone, letting the three Gryffindors install themselves without removing any House points, unlike Professor Snape.

"Welcome to the class of Charms!" said the little professor, jumping on a stack of books to be seen by every student. "I am Professor Filius Flitwick, Senior Charms Master of Hogwarts, Head of House Ravenclaw and for this year, I will be your Charms Professor."

He then flicked his wand, and made a dozen of books dance, levitated half of the tables and coloured the room in no less than five different colours. All the students were immediately in awe at this demonstration and broke into applause.

Professor Flitwick was short, only about four feet in height and from what she had heard from her fellow housemates this was due to him being part goblin. This was extremely odd, due to how rare inter-species marriages were according to _Hogwarts: A History_.

Watching the man who was her Head of House, she noticed everyone was smiling at the sight of the little teacher calling names on the register, trying to balance himself his way on the book stack at the same time. When he called the name Neville Longbottom, the Professor jumped so high he destabilized the books, before landing on his feet after a somersault with an agility Alexandra knew she didn't have. The Professor got a round of applause from the students for this spectacular and acrobatic performance.

Such a response did nothing to decrease the size of Neville Longbottom's ego. The round Gryffindor puffed out his chest in pride, and his classmates cheered for him as if he had won an Olympic event. When the Professor called her name, his reaction was much different, he smiled in a dreamy way, and rubbed his hands together in excitement. Alexandra, already in a suspicious mood today, didn't enjoy it a lot. She felt like a very juicy canary in front of a nice but very large cat.

The first half of the class today was about the theory behind the basic Lumos charm, which was a spell to create a source of light. Professor Flitwick stated it would take them the month to master the charm, as it was the first spell they were learning. As the year progressed, affirmed Flitwick, they would learn charms of greater difficulty and with a greater frequency as their control over their own magic increased and grew more focused. The rest of the class was filled with the students shouting "Lumos!" in their best voice, trying to create a light at the tip of their wand. A Gryffindor boy named Seamus Finnigan managed to create an explosion instead of the expected light on his first try, and was sent to the infirmary right away.

Neville Longbottom managed to create a tiny light on his third try, but he was the exception. And as the students failed to master the spell, they began to shout the spell even louder, giving Alexandra a headache.

Alexandra concentrated, trying to regain the feeling of magic she used in the Fumos spell, and then did a loop with her wand, shouting "LUMOS!" in a loud voice. An explosion of light was expelled from her wand, blinding her on the spot.

She heard "Nox!" being shouted from her teacher's direction, but it took several minutes for her vision to clear again.

"Very good, Miss Potter!" said in an amused tone Professor Flitwick once her vision had returned to its normal state, "But next try, less power in it!" His voice was giddy, as if she had just made a very good joke.

Turning to see the rest of her class, Alexandra saw her housemates and the Gryffindors were less than amused. In fact, they were looking at her with terrified faces, like she had just confirmed all their suspicions. Turning back, she sighed. No matter what she did, it seemed to convince all the first-years she was their enemy.

That her second spell was more controlled and the third was nearly perfect changed the terrified tones behind her into jealous expressions. Alexandra sighed again, knowing the silent treatment and the hate she received in her childhood with Dudley had a very good chance to continue a new year and beyond. She got ten points for Ravenclaw for her spell work though, erasing the points lost by Ravenclaw in Potions class in the morning. The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl named Hermione Granger took ten points for Gryffindor too, managing a perfect Lumos two minutes after her.

Finally the school bell rang announcing the end of the lesson, which caused the professor to stop their attempts. Except Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger and Alexandra herself, who had all managed to correctly use the charm, the rest of the class was assigned the task of practicing the Lumos charm as homework for Friday.

"Miss Potter if you would follow me to my office?" said Flitwick. Alexandra forced herself to breath calmly, knowing the time to answer for her actions last night had finally arrived.

The office of Professor Flitwick, as it happened, was at the end of the same corridor the Ravenclaw common room was located on. The office was surprisingly welcoming, and she noticed her trunk was waiting there. The office was full of trophies and cups her Head of House had won in his younger days. She took her time to look at one which was a representation of two wands locked together, with a golden plaque on the side indicating this was the award for the Champion of the Berlin Tournament of 1960.

Looking back at her professor, she noticed her Head of House had sat on a rather comfortable chair and was busy examining her in turn.

"Please sit, Miss Potter" said Flitwick in a pleasant tone."Would you like some tea or some biscuits?"

"Biscuits would be fine, Professor." Alexandra said. A plate of biscuits appeared magically in front of her. Alexandra took one, and ate it. It was excellent.

"Now let's get started, shall we? First, Miss Potter, I must present you my excuses."

That Alexandra had not expected. As far as she remembered no one had ever presented excuses in her childhood. No matter if they were deserved or not.

"Err... excuses, Professor?"

"Yes, excuses. Last night, I was so excited to get you in my House that I forgot the most basic precautions for your security," Flitwick elaborated.

"When your mother was at school, she was one of my brilliant students. When the Hat sent you to Ravenclaw, I was so happy I basically forgot most of my House would not share my joy."

Alexandra nodded in understanding. "Because unlike you, they saw me as my father's daughter, not my mother."

"Precisely," approved Flitwick. "And it could have cost you your life."

Alexandra shivered at the tone of his voice, which had turned deadly serious.

"No one told me what happened in the aftermath. Was it that bad?"

Flitwick winced. "That depends what your definition of bad is, Miss Potter. Your succession of Fumos spells completely panicked the older students, who threw spells in the smoke which should never had been used against a fellow housemate, much less at school. Fourteen students were sent to the hospital wing. Fifteen if you are included. Thirteen, including you, have already recovered from their injuries and will have no further health problems. The two others, however, will take several days to get out of Madam Pomfrey's care. Being crushed by a library and simultaneously taking twenty spells tend to make serious injuries."

Silence fell in the office, and Alexandra paled. She had known she was against a lot of students, but fourteen wounded? No wonder the Ravenclaws and the rest of the students had been terrified this morning! Flitwick continued, this time his posture betraying the fact she was not going to like what he had to say.

"In normal circumstances, the students who attacked you would have been expelled immediately from Hogwarts, Miss Potter. I examined your wand myself, and I know you used only a smoke spell and a very weak first-year curse to defend yourself. The other Ravenclaws retaliated by using curses which could have led to several deaths in the conditions they were used. Alex Sykes tried to murder you in my presence when I lifted your smoke spells, and should have been turned to the DMLE for this murder attempt in cold blood. In fact, this was exactly what I demanded at the meeting of the Professors which was convened in urgency: the expulsion of those involved in the attack against you. Unfortunately, I was overruled."

Alexandra opened her mouth furious. They had tried to kill her, and they wouldn't even be expelled? Then her thoughts blinked at Flitwick's choice of words. Overruled. According to _Hogwarts: A History_ , the only person having the power to overrule a Head of House was the Headmaster himself.

"Why?" she asked in a grim voice.

Flitwick grunted, a sound which reminded her of the Gringotts goblins she had met so far. Perhaps he really had goblin ancestors after all? "As I spoke to him last evening, the Headmaster was convinced expelling them because of you would lead to a long political fight between him and the Board of Governors, one which would certainly see the punishments overruled by the Board and the guilty students making their return before the end of the week."

Seeing Alexandra's expression of disbelief, Flitwick emitted a smile without any warmth.

"My reaction exactly when I learnt this, Miss Potter. But it was the Headmaster's decision, and I wasn't able to do anything to change his mind."

"Does the Headmaster want me dead?" Alexandra asked. "Because the students who were maimed in the fight are going to come back for revenge. And I may have been lucky once, but I really doubt they will fail a second time. Or a third for that matter."

"I know," Flitwick sighed. "All your attackers lost all their privileges until I see fit to give them back and got several weeks to months of detention depending their involvement in the assault. I have also removed the badges of two of my prefects. But as you said yourself, they will come back, Miss Potter. Have you thought about transferring to another school?"

"I thought about it," said Alexandra. "But at any British school, I will face the same problems, and all the other establishments in the British Isles are inferior to Hogwarts." From what she read in _Hogwarts: A History_ , barely two others merited the name 'school' in her opinion. "And I have not a lot of money to spend for my studies, unless Hogwarts is willing to reimburse my tuition." Which seeing Flitwick's face and negative nod, they would never do, which shut down that idea quickly. In turn, it made foreign schools unsuitable, as the continental schools were not cheap. She had not tens of thousands of galleons to enter another academy of magic. Her trust vault, the entire sum she had to her disposition until her 12th birthday, was on the order of approximately 10 800 galleons. Emptying her only gold resource when she had more than five years of education to pass did not sound very wise. Assuming her magical guardian, a certain Albus Dumbledore, didn't use his authority to force her to stay at Hogwarts.

"In that case Miss Potter, that leaves only one other option." Her little professor showed a smile which was best qualified as predatory. "I've warded your room this morning for you and you alone to enter. None of your housemate was willing to share a room with you anyway." Flitwick rolled his shoulders. "That will allow you to sleep without being attacked by dozens of bloodthirsty housemates. But if you are willing to survive at Hogwarts, you will have to learn to fight them outnumbered."

His smile got even larger.

"Tell me, Miss Potter," said Flitwick. "Would you like to have private lessons in the noble art of Duelling?"

Alexandra was among the last students to arrive to the Great Hall for dinner. At first, she had been rather unconvinced by Flitwick's 'solution' for her problems, but she had finally accepted attending the duelling lessons. She had a feeling she was going to regret it soon, since her Head of House looked like someone who had just found a nice punching ball for Christmas.

But seeing the glares and the looks of hate her own House sent her as she walked her way to a place to eat, she realized her options were drastically limited. She could not fight two dozen students, older, more powerful and experienced than her every night.

"What were you doing this afternoon, Potter?" snarled a large Ravenclaw boy who she recognized as having participated in the fight of last night. "Packing your bags? No one wants a Dark Lady in training like you here!"

"Funny you said that." She replied courteously at the older boy. "I was just clearing my schedule for my first private lesson with Professor Flitwick."

Her interlocutor took on an interesting colour between green and red at that sentence. Well, it seemed the reputation of her Head of House in Duelling was firmly established in Hogwarts _. Perhaps_ , Alexandra thought as she saw her fellow Ravenclaws trying to put the maximum distance between them and her, _this year was not going to be so terrible after all_.


	7. Sadists Teachers

**Chapter 7**

**Sadists Teachers**

 **6 September 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Thankfully for Alexandra, the rest of her first week at Hogwarts was not worse than her first day at the school. Of course, given how bad this first day had been, it was a pretty low bar to pass under. That was not to say there was no room for improvement. Waking up and going down for breakfast on Tuesday, she noticed that while nobody was shouting "Dark Lady!" anymore (well nobody save the Weasley Twins, but they didn't count), there were plenty of student whispering on her way to the Great Hall. Oh, and once again, the Ravenclaws at breakfast did their best to eat the furthest away from her. It was like she had contracted the plague or some other nasty disease.

The first class on Tuesday for the Ravenclaws was Transfiguration, which as it happened was done in common with the Slytherins. In fact, Tuesday was a Slytherin morning, as the Ravenclaws were doing the same classes as the House of Snakes: Transfiguration and Herbology.

From the beginning, Alexandra's impression of the senior professor of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall, was that the woman was strict and didn't tolerate any chaos in her class. The woman was the Deputy Head mistress and the Head of Gryffindor, and warned from the start the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins in the classroom that any kind of pranks or disorder would not be tolerated.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," the Senior Transfiguration Professor had said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed into a cat and then reverted back into a human, before transforming her desk into a cow and back too. Even the most cynical students of Slytherin House had been in awe after this magical demonstration, and everyone in the class couldn't wait to get started.

Alas, they had been forced to acknowledge changing a desk into the animal of their choice was way over their heads for the moment. Nearly half the period was passed doing calculus and learning weird transfiguration theories Alexandra could honestly say she had not understood even half of.

After writing a lot of notes, they had been authorised to try changing a match into a needle. It had been horridly difficult: by the end of the lesson, Alexandra thought she had one of the best attempts, and while her match had turned completely silver, it was not pointy at all. Her work had gained one point for Ravenclaw, but she had not avoided the mountain of work Professor McGonagall had assigned them.

Following Transfiguration, they went to Greenhouse number 1 and the class of Herbology.

The Senior Professor of Herbology was Professor Pomona Sprout, a rotund woman who was convivial to all the first-year students and the Head of House Hufflepuff. As it happened, Alexandra had no doubt Herbology was going to be a nightmare for the Slytherins during their time at school. As the person who was supposed to do all the chores at the Dursleys', Alexandra had been forced to do gardening. Granted, it had been not her idea of a pleasure task, and no plant or flower Aunt Petunia wanted in her garden was magical (the very idea of that would have sent her into a coma), but she had done gardening in her childhood.

Noticing all the Slytherins first years and about half the Ravenclaws had hands perfectly manicured and their hair in a perfect fashion, she had to conclude the greenhouses were the closest things to hell for them. The greenhouses of Hogwarts were warm, far warmer than the Scottish climate of September. It was also extremely wet. After half an hour, each student was swimming in their own sweat, as the sun over the greenhouse bombarded them with all its light and warmth.

Draco Malfoy, a pale blond-haired pureblood boy took the opportunity of whining and whispering about a hundred times "When my father hears of this...", as the rest of the class studied the different sorts of fungi, and ended up costing his House five points, as he forgot to close his mouth when Professor Sprout passed by to see what they had learnt of the fungi they had before them. When the bell rang to signal the end of the first class of Herbology, Alexandra had not needed to read minds to know the Slytherins, and Malfoy in particular, had utterly loathed this class. The unneeded confirmation came from the blond pureblood's own mouth when he ranted about being forced to do the work of "peasants, blood-traitors..." as they walked back through the grounds of Hogwarts.

Leaving the greenhouse, she went like the others to lunch, and then after a rapid shower to erase the fetid odours of Herbology, ran to the wing where the History of Magic classes were taught. Rapidly, she realised she shouldn't have bothered. The Senior Professor of History of Magic was named Binns, and for an unknown reason which escaped Alexandra, someone had thought it was a great idea to let him continue to teach long after he was dead. Binns was a ghost. Worse, Binns was a boring ghost. In less than ten minutes, the majority of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were no longer listening. After twenty minutes, there were only three students who were not sleeping: Morag McDougal, Hermione Granger, and Alexandra herself.

Morag McDougal was drawing something with her quill on a parchment which looked like the fungi they had studied in the morning. Alexandra was reading her history book, figuring she might as well do something productive when the professor (as lightly as she wanted to use that title for Binns) wanted to bore them to death. Only Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired girl of House Gryffindor, looked like she was seriously trying to take notes from Binns' boring and unintelligible speech. Alexandra's respect for the concentration and the sense of sacrifice of the Gryffindor girl rose, but she hoped the girl would realise it was a valiant but doomed effort. Binns' sentences, which had been boring but loud and clear when he described the Goblin War of 1651, were now only whispers, and Alexandra was only hearing something clear when Binns finished a paragraph. Unless she was missing something, Alexandra was thinking all of her courses in History would have to be done in self-study. When the bell rang, it woke up the other nineteen students, who appeared to have been deeply sleeping.

On Wednesday morning, she experienced a brief moment of hope when they learnt they were having a class with the Junior (and alive) History Professor Julius Tiroflan, but this miracle turned to ashes. The wizard was not boring, oh no. Tiroflan was lazy. The man forced the students to come read the History book themselves in front of their classmates, and the teacher answered any questions with instructions like "Ask your Charms professor why!","This is the job of the Transfiguration professor!" or "Go ask the Potions Master, this question is beyond my sphere of competence!" so many times the Ravens and the Lions knew the Professor was not qualified to teach them anything, whether it was History, Charms, Potions, or Transfiguration. In conclusion, History was a lost cause, and Alexandra almost cried for joy when it was over. What were Binns and Tiroflan doing as teachers in a school like Hogwarts? She could teach better than them, and she had exactly two days of magical education. Alexandra had enjoyed History in primary school, but the two so-called 'Professors' had turned this class into a magical joke.

The class of Defence Against the Dark Arts revealed itself to be in the same levels as History. The Senior Professor was named Quirinus Quirrell, his main activities consisting of spending his time stuttering and impregnating the room with the nauseating odour of garlic. His violet turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but no student fully believed that story. For one thing, when Justin Finch-Fletchley asked in an eager voice to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went red and started talking about the sunny weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley Twins were already launching rumours that insisted the turban was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

On Friday morning, they saw the Junior Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, who presented himself as Professor John Devkins. Unlike Quirrell, the Professor didn't seem to be a coward or someone afraid of his own shadow. But as Alexandra and the rest of her class were forced to admit, Devkins forgot everything. For example, that he was supposed to have class this morning, a point which became evident as he arrived fifteen minutes late. That he was supposed to teach them something, as he was a Professor and they were his students. His keys and the chalk for the blackboard were other things which had been forgotten on his way to the classroom. The questionnaire he wanted to ask them in order to "know them better." That the class he was the teacher of was Defence Against the Dark Arts, not Astronomy, an issue which forced Megan Jones of Hufflepuff to confirm, taking five minutes to impress upon him the correct name of the class and the timetable.

Flying being not taught the first week, the last new Senior Professor to be introduced was Professor Sinistra of Astronomy, and Alexandra found her a good teacher, although she would have enjoyed not being forced to have a course at midnight at the top of the Astronomy Tower on Wednesday. The telescopes of the magical world (or at least of Magical Britain) were also heavily lagging behind their non-magical counterparts, and observing all the constellations was not easy.

The other classes on Thursday only further developed what had been introduced on the first day: they learnt more about the different uses of Lumos and practised the spell in Charms class, they continued their work on their matches-to-needles in Transfiguration, with Alexandra achieving the transformation of her match into a needle for the first time, earning two points for Ravenclaw.

It was only during Friday's lunch that Alexandra and her year-mates discovered for the first time a new aspect of school at Hogwarts: the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry.

As she was still shunned by all her House, ignored and alone at lunch, Alexandra was one of the first persons to notice there was something strange with the behaviour of the Gryffindor first-years coming out of the dungeons: instead of alternating between a state of depression or hate like the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, the Gryffindors led by the unavoidable Neville Longbottom were not only happy, but joyous. As it was public knowledge Professor Snape hated Gryffindor House, Alexandra had a sudden urge to sigh and despair. What had the Lions done to be laughing out loud so much? Alexandra and the rest of the Great Hall had not long to wait to have their answer.

With a loud shout of "BLACK! LONGBOTTOM! WEASLEY!", Professor Snape came out of the dungeons in long strides, his black cape billowing like the one of the Nazgul, with an expression of pure murder on his face.

The smiles at the Gryffindor table died almost instantly. The Potions Master's march to the table of the Lions was marked by a silence which usually was reserved for when Alexandra made an appearance somewhere.

"Thought it was funny to use your miserable attempts at making a Boil Cure for a prank on a student, Black, Longbottom, Weasley?" said Snape, with a cold voice which could have made a bear cower in fear.

Alexandra, much like the rest of the witnesses, felt her jaw dropping. She had seen what a failed Boil Cure potion could do first hand when Hopkins had rolled in pain during Potions class. Surely even Gryffindors weren't that stupid. Or, she thought looking at the pleased face of Leo Black, maybe they were. While Neville and Ronald were not smiling anymore, their partner-in-crime looked completely unaware to the anger of Professor Snape. It was also possible he didn't care, she figured.

"Yes, very funny," answered Leo Black in a sarcastic tone, he didn't seem to understand that the question posed had been rhetorical. "My father did the same thing to you for your hair, didn't he, Snivellus?"

The students in the hall stopped breathing after this. Snape himself began to smile in a way promising endless torment, as if he couldn't believe a Gryffindor boy would have been that stupid.

"Let's see, fifty points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor, Black. Ten points from Gryffindor each for your prank which sent Mr Vaisey to the hospital, Black, Longbottom and Weasley. Longbottom, Weasley, you will have a week of detentions with me. Black, one month of detention, and if I hear you disrespecting me again, I will ask for your expulsion," Snape enounced in a slow, frigid, and calm voice, barely hiding the fury he felt.

The rest of the discussion Alexandra didn't hear as the Potions Master lowered his voice and now spoke in a whisper, but seeing the faces of the Gryffindors, it wasn't to congratulate them for their prank. After a few seconds, Snape left the hall again, and conversations resumed, most of them centred on what had just happened. The three Gryffindors stayed immobile at their table, still in shock from meeting with the vengeful Head of Slytherin.

Ten minutes later, the Slytherin first-years came in for lunch, all harbouring stone faces. Even a look at the now empty hourglass of Gryffindor wasn't enough to sooth them, and seeing them eating and speaking in low tones, it was not hard to guess that they were planning their revenge. Herbology only confirmed Alexandra's opinion. The Ravenclaws, including herself, were busy taking drawing and taking notes on the fungi on one side of the greenhouse, while the Slytherins were on the other side, whispering between themselves and writing things down on parchments that hadn't a chance to have even the slightest importance in the field of Herbology. Draco Malfoy was in the middle of his housemates, of course, and the arrogant blond was neither particularly discreet nor subtle. With Crabbe and Goyle at his side, Malfoy was trying and succeeding to bring the Slytherins in order for battle. Apart from Daphne Greengrass, who seemed to stay out of it and showed an icy expression, the first-year snakes were about to follow Malfoy against Neville Longbottom.

As the class ended and the week-end started, Alexandra wondered how the Slytherins were going to attack the Gryffindors. If one thing had been evident this week, it was that her level in magic was equal to, if not superior to those who had lived in the magical world all their lives. For all their pretensions about magic and the purity of the blood, the magic-raised students didn't seem to have much of a head-start. And Alexandra knew exactly four spells right now, one of them (the match-to-needle Transfiguration) useless for a battle between witches and wizards.

Entering the castle, she went on her way to the Common Room to take a shower before dinner. She had her first "private lesson" this evening with her Head of House, and she refused to go there all dirty and sweaty. As it happened, she lost a bit of time reading her Charms book and had to run to get dinner on time. Passing a corridor badly lit with only one or two torches, Alexandra saw the first-years Gryffindors descending the stairs on her left.

And then the attack came.

A loud, shrieking voice that Alexandra's voice identified as Draco Malfoy's shouted "GO, GET THEM!" and the Slytherins emerged from the extremities of the stairs, throwing coloured sparks at the surprised Gryffindors. Unfortunately for Malfoy and his goons, the moment of surprise didn't last, and not one of the Snakes ambushing the Lions seemed to have much knowledge of useful offensive magic. They just knew to send sparks. Pretty colours, yes, but not something painful or dangerous for something bigger than a hamster. On the other side, Neville Longbottom and Leo Black knew how to perform real spells... and they didn't hold back. Crabbe went down first, his nose covered in mucus and his legs tied. Goyle took three or four spells before going down. Then Nott. Parkinson. Malfoy was hit by seven or eight 'prank spells' and was looking like an alien of science fiction seen in Dudley's comic books when Longbottom was finished with him. Realising the battle was lost, Zabini, Davis, Bulstrode, and the Carrow twins fled the stairs, or tried in Bulstrode's case, as the large girl was hit by what looked like to be a hex which made the victim vomit. A blue tornado spell looking like the Flipendo Jinx Alexandra had read about in her books finished Bulstrode. Except Nigel Wolpert who had been trampled by Crabbe and Goyle at the start of the skirmish, no one in Gryffindor was hurt.

Singularly unimpressed by the Slytherin's attempted method of retaliation, Alexandra turned back and walked away from the scene of the battle, as the screams of victory shouted by the Gryffindors were sure to attract a Professor or a Prefect. She promised herself to ask Professor Flitwick about some of the spells that had just been employed.

Dinner was calm, as there were no first-year Slytherins present except Daphne Greengrass, making Alexandra conclude that with all the teachers present in the Great Hall, no one had yet been warned of the "incident" between the two enemy Houses. It would not last, but for the moment the Gryffindors were all grinning like they had won a wonderful prize, and were congratulated by the older students. Alexandra saw some teachers at the High table frowning, including Professor Snape. By the end of the day, Gryffindor was going to lose the last points it had in its hourglass, that much was certain.

Half an hour later, she entered the Duelling room of Hogwarts. It was a dusty and not pretty place, with a lot of debris everywhere. Pieces of wood and bits of glass littered the ground. Most of the windows were blackened with a sort of slime. The large platform which should have been used for Duelling was leaning against a wall broken into three pieces and they were remnants of chairs and tables everywhere.

"Not a pretty sight, is it?" asked Professor Flitwick, who was making disappear most of the debris with simple flicks of his wand.

"No, no it's not, Professor," answered Alexandra. "What happened here?"

Flitwick sighed, any good humour completely absent. "The war happened. Some of the most brilliant students of the Duelling Club were Gryffindors and Slytherins, and what happened in this room was one of the first warnings we had of the last conflict coming. Two students expelled from Hogwarts with their wands broken. Nineteen students had to be admitted in the Hospital Wing, five had to be transferred to the Hospital of Saint Mungo in urgency. The Duelling Club was closed in 1976, and my efforts since then to reopen it have always been met with failure. But enough of this."

Flitwick slashed his wand, and all the pieces of wood remaining vanished, the clouds of dust were sent outside, and the slime was thrown out of the windows and then disappeared into nothingness.

"Now, Miss Potter. Is there something you want to know before we begin?"

"Yes, Professor. You see I was passing a corridor when..." she explained the ambush she had just been the witness of before dinner. She did not miss the interested look on her teacher's face. "What I just don't understand is why Neville Longbottom and Leo Black knew so many spells when Draco and the other Slytherins knew only to send sparks. I mean, I knew only two spells before mounting the Hogwarts Express, and I learnt them between the moment I got my wand and September 1st!"

Her professor nodded and then explained."While there has been no attempt on his life since the fall of the Dark Lord, it has always been acknowledged the Boy-Who-Lived's life was going to be under threat. Neville's grandmother, Dowager Augusta Longbottom, requested an exemption to train her grandson with several tutors since he was nine years old."

Now that explained everything, Alexandra thought. It was not exactly that impressive a feat to know so much magic when you were two years ahead in experience of your year-mates.

"As for Mr. Black, I can only speculate, but I would not be surprised if his father, Lord Sirius Black had requested the same for his son, although I was not aware of it. Or perhaps young Mr. Black was trained by his father, as Lord Black was and is still quite talented at the type of spells you described. So, for that matter, was your father."

At Alexandra's grimace of the mention of James Potter, Professor Flitwick sighed but did not make more comments.

"As for the exchange of spells, I will keep your knowledge of such events secret. The Gryffindors' and the Slytherins' versions of the event will be all over the castle by tomorrow morning, anyway. In the future, if you see a similar fight, do not intervene unless you believe the life of a student is in danger. Battles where the Lions and Snakes are involved tend to end badly for those who are caught in-between."

"Now, I will be teaching you Duelling," Flitwick stated. "Let's be clear and serious, Miss Potter. I do not teach you these lessons for you to go and curse someone freely." The tone employed by her Head of House was clear and bore none of the humour and joy he spoke with in class. "This class exists in order for you to stay alive and defend yourself when you come under attack with the correct amount of force."

He explained when she raised an eyebrow. "So I don't need to see someone's lawyer to try you with a sentence implicating jail time in Azkaban."

His voice turned more cheerful after that tirade.

"There are four forms of Duelling. The first is friendly duelling. Wizards do it all the time to train, to practise new spells, to keep themselves in good condition. This type of duel stops well before first blood, and is deemed an excellent manner for young wizard and witches to get in touch with their repertoire of spells and know the limit of their capacities."

"Second are the duels of competition. These are a lot more brutal, although it is considered bad form to permanently maim or kill your opponent. This is a bloody sport, but the judges always stop the match before death. Killing will get you banned from participating in the official circles. There are a lot of protocols and rules, because the safety of the spectators and participants is paramount. This type of duelling is the most practised today," Flitwick smiled and bowed slightly to her, "and I happen to be a renowned retired champion of it. If you manifest enough skills it, it is possible I will enter you in some tournaments, like I do for Ravenclaws who manifest a talent in Duelling."

"The third are the honour duels. They were outlawed a century ago in the British Isles. An honour duel is to the death, Miss Potter. They began to fall in disuse after several Noble Houses began to circumvent the protocols to easily kill their enemies without waiting for the duel to begin."

"And the fourth and last is brawl duelling."

"Which is…?" She asked.

"No rules, no referees, just an appropriate name for wizards and witches to fight each other in small numbers until they escape or stay dead. If enough fighters are involved, brawl duelling and a magical battle are virtually undistinguishable from each other. Completely outlawed in the British Isles, there are some circles which allow a limited form of brawl duelling in South America. But it is very rare to hear a tournament organised in this form. It's also known as free-for all duelling, and you might not be surprised to know it is the type of Duelling which bears the most similarities to the incident which happened to you in the Ravenclaw Common Room."

"Four types of duels," she whispered. "Which one are you planning to teach me?"

Flitwick smiled. "Teaching you the first would be a waste of our time. From your fight in the Ravenclaw Common Room, your opponents have already moved past that stage." At her nod of approval, he continued. "Unless you want it, you will never find yourself in an honour duel. I will give you a book to learn the customs and the rules for it, but we will stop there. In this room, we will concentrate on the second and fourth forms, especially the fourth given what almost happened to you."

"Enough history for now," Flitwick said, bouncing on his feet with pleasure.

"Now, I want to have a good picture of what you can do. At my signal, come at me with the intent to kill."

She almost stared open-mouthed at her professor for one second, but managed to close her mouth in time. The man was a retired professional duellist. Of course, she could go at him with the intent to kill! Professor Flitwick could no doubt crush her with one hand behind his back. Alexandra would be lucky to give him a scratch.

"Begin!"

Alexandra decided that if her Head of House wanted a fight, he was going to have one. She shouted "LUMOS!" and closed her eyes. The explosion of light she had involuntarily made in Charms class was reproduced, and she ran towards her professor, trying to knock him out cold.

A blue-coloured spell came out of nowhere on her right, and she had to dodge it in extremis. Seeing her professor literally dancing at that location, she shot a Petrificus Totalus and missed him. The rest was a one-sided humiliation, as she couldn't seem to touch Flitwick, who was too quick and swift to be touched by her spells. She was forced to roll, evade, dodge, and jump in pure desperation before finally taking a red light in her chest from her Head of House. Alexandra collapsed and lost consciousness.

"Ennervate!"

"Ahhhg..." Alexandra groaned. She was on her back, starring at the ceiling. Her vision was blurry for a few seconds, then she recovered enough to see her Professor standing over her. She tried to move, emitting another groan of pain.

"How long was I unconscious?" She asked, massaging her muscles to decrease the pain.

"One minute," Replied Flitwick with a big smile. "You are very inventive, Miss Potter and I must admit your over-powered Lumos took me quite by surprise."

"You toyed with me." Alexandra accused.

"Yes." Flitwick grinned at that. "Don't sell yourself too short, Miss Potter, unless there was something very wrong with me, a first-year should not be able to best a Professor. Even with seventh-year students, I am not seriously threatened when we make friendly duels to see their casting skills and endurance. Though you have the potential to be more dangerous than them, I must admit."

Seeing her standing on her legs again without any help, Flitwick smiled again.

"Five minutes of analysis, and then we will have a second match. That will be all for the lesson today."

Alexandra groaned again wondering what she had done in a past life to deserve this treatment. She had thought her teacher was a sadist at the very beginning of this session and now she had the confirmation. Though Flitwick was a Duellist champion, he was also an excellent analyst, explaining that she had excellent precision but that she needed to eat a lot more food at each meal. Readying her wand, Alexandra prepared herself for a second dolorous meeting with the floor, which happened indeed twenty-six seconds later. She managed to get back to her bedroom on her own, but she couldn't have beaten a kitten in duel after that, much less Hogwarts students.

* * *

 **7 September 1991, Paris, France**

Two people were walking on the street's pavement as the sun set in a crimson colour over Paris. In itself, the sight was not worthy of any inquiries despite the rather late hour. The City of Lights was excellent for shopping, and thousands of people were still outside at this time of day. It was only if an observer examined the scene with acute attention that there would have some anomalies to report. First, the two individuals were wearing clothes which could have been considered the norm in the eighteenth century at the court of a French King. More curious was the fact that no one noticed them or made a single remark on their getup. Even when a middle-aged lady just missed crashing into them. And third was their unreal appearance. One was a woman with blonde-hair and blue eyes, looking like she belonged in a magazine for super-models rather than the average street they were walking down. Her companion was less beautiful, but with average blond hair and piercing brown eyes, he was hardly unremarkable.

"Are you sure we have not made a mistake, dear?" The voice of the woman was cultured and aristocratic; the type one person rarely had the occasion to hear today.

"Concerning what my dear?" asked her companion with an amused tone.

"Trusting Albus Dumbledore? Bribing the Goblins? Conspiring against the King?" The woman's smirk could not have been more evident.

"It is not like we had a lot of choices, my dear. I know it took me a long time to guess the plans of this madman, but..."

"But we can't let his projects come to fruition? Even if we contributed to funding them in the first place?"

"Exactly. I have no love for the Goblins or the Muggles, but what the King has prepared for our world is too horrible to become reality. And as much as I hate it, letting one of our Stones fall into Albus' hands was perhaps one of the easiest way to hamper His plans."

"I don't like it," said the beautiful blonde woman. "There are a lot of things which could go terribly wrong."

"I don't like it either," admitted the man with a roll of his shoulders. "But Albus is one of the rare wizards the eleven other Knights won't dare to attack openly. They remember what happened to Grindelwald and they know it won't be easy to defeat him."

"Unless the King decides to deal with him personally."

"Yes," sighed the man many knew as Nicholas Flamel. "But I don't think he's ready to come out of the shadows. Yet."


	8. Flying and Pranks

**Chapter 8**

 **Flying and Pranks**

 **15 September 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

If Alexandra had thought she had known to how further the Slytherin-Gryffindor mutual loathing could go at Hogwarts, her second week at the magical school made clear she hadn't known anything at all. As Professor Flitwick had predicted with the wisdom of a former Ravenclaw student, everyone from the headmaster to the caretaker's cat knew what had happened on Friday evening between Longbottom and Malfoy's groups by the next day at breakfast. Okay, maybe not the caretaker's cat. Though this pitiful and angry animal, called Mrs Norris by his dirty and gloomy owner, looked extremely well-informed on everything which happened in the rooms of the castle. As teachers were on their guard Saturday and Sunday to avoid further incidents, the week-end was relatively devoid of any magical incident. The issue was that all the Gryffindors and the Slytherins had known this, and had passed these two days planning and stockpiling for the coming week.

When Alexandra entered the Great Hall for breakfast on Monday morning, the Slytherin table was full of people wearing red robes and having gold hair, while the Gryffindors sprouted green beards and song salacious hymns. Far from stopping the pranks, this event just unleashed a circle of pranks and magical ambushes between the Lions and the Snakes, with the Ravens and the Badgers in the crossfire. Alexandra followed the advice of her Head of House: as soon as there was a prank or a fight, she ran away from it the most discreetly possible. She was already a paria in Ravenclaw House and detested among the rest of the student population; she didn't need to encourage the older teenagers to see her as Enemy Public Number One. The issue was that the chaos was spreading into the school, and it became increasingly difficult thorough the week to avoid all the disturbances.

The teachers assigned detentions by the dozens, the House points for the two belligerent Houses dropped in the negative numbers but it didn't change anything: by Thursday, Hogwarts was a "prank zone": going to the classes exposed every student to funny and humiliating traps, spells, jokes, which saw a boy or a girl present himself to the professor with a far different look than the one he had left the common room. A normal conversation between two students was now consisting of:

"Rictusempra!"

"Tarentellagra!"

"Furnunculus!"

"Everte Statum!'

In a non-magical school, reflected Alexandra on Friday, half of the students guilty of these "pranks" would have been expelled instantly for what they'd done. Their venerable Headmaster, the Gandalf-like Albus Dumbledore, thought it was all in good fun. But the old wizard had thought the same thing when Alexandra was almost murdered, so she supposed the man was simply senile. Maybe his notion of fun was way off the radar? Anyway the Headmaster himself had not been seen since dinner on last Friday.

On the scholarly side, the only novelty in the first-year classes of the second week at Hogwarts was the Flying lesson, which for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff revealed themselves singularly boring. At two o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, Alexandra and the other Ravenclaws, followed by the herd of Hufflepuffs, hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, sunny day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

Professor Hooch, teaching the Flying courses, was already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Alexandra had heard a prefect saying they had replaced the old-models of brooms at Hogwarts two years ago after one broke in half with a student on it, but the students addicted to flying had emitted deep reserves with the replacements, telling everyone these were training brooms for five years old. Their teacher for this class, Professor Hooch, had short, grey hair and yellow eyes, features which made her comparison with a hawk appropriate. Unfortunately, the witch had also the temper associated with this bird of prey.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" the woman barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Alexandra glanced down at her broom. She knew appearances could be deceptive, but this broom did not seem to be saturated with magic. The wood was ugly and dark, and the best one could say about it was that its conceiver had passed a little varnish over the broom to make it more presentable. Not the idea she had of a competition broomstick.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say, "Up!"'

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Alexandra's broom rose slowly into the hair to reach her hand in a slow motion. She looked around, and she realised only about half of the brooms had answered to the command. The vast majority of the rest were rolling over on the ground, unaware of the frustration they posed to the students. One or two, like Zacharias Smith's own broom, didn't move at all. The strangest answer without contest came from Megan Jones broom, the object giving her a playful spanking on her behind when she told "UP!"

After ten minutes of "UP!","UP!", each student had managed to call its own broom at least once, and Professor Hooch proceeded to show them how to mount this flying means of locomotion correctly. According to her instructions, you had to not slide off the end and you had to have the correct grip on the handle of the broom. Some Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs were told they had been using wrong positions for years. Zacharias Smith, again, didn't take this judgement with courtesy and humility.

"But the manager my father invited told me that's the perfect position!" Wailed the haughty Hufflepuff.

"When you will be an expert player, Smith! And you are far from this level!" Barked Professor Hooch, who didn't appreciate her authority being challenged.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said the Flying teacher, more irritated in her tone and manners. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –one-GO!"

Alexandra kicked the ground hard, but as the broom she was sitting on was only for training the beginners, her rise towards the sky was slow and unimpressive. Near to her, the group of her year mates also soared progressively in the air.

Air billowing her robes beyond her, Alexandra found flying extremely pleasant. Now, if only the broom had been able to speed even a little, it would have been wonderful. The manoeuvres Professor Hooch taught them during the rest of the class were not completely useless, but when your broom went at a snail's pace, it was boring nonetheless. The only exciting moment was when Zacharias Smith almost crashed in Susan Bones, making the former the target of several black eyes from his fellow Hufflepuffs and the anger of the redoubtable Professor Hooch.

"Smith! Do you want to kill someone? Five points from Hufflepuff! Now descend from your broom the lesson is over for you!"

The rest of the lessons ended without any other notable incidents.

Coming back to the castle, Alexandra decided to buy a broom for next year. Not an expensive and cutting-edge broomstick, she couldn't afford spending hundreds of Galleons with the majority of her family's fortune inaccessible to her, but there had to be a market for second-hand brooms. Alexandra would never be selected on the Quidditch team due to her extreme unpopularity, but she could fly one hour or two by herself around the castle without breaking any rules. The school brooms were too slow anyway, the older students had been right on that point, and she wanted to experience a bit of speed on a magical means of transportation. If not, where was the fun? Even Dudley had wanted a racing bike to go faster last year, proof everyone wanted to experience the sheer joy of extreme speed. Although what her cousin did with the racing bike after he got it was a subject not best thinking about. There were performances unavailable to you when you had the constitution of a very large pig.

The noise and the odour of a dungbomb exploding in the nearby corridor forced her to stop these thoughts and run to avoid a new wave of pranks. This time it was not a student, but Peeves, the poltergeist of Hogwarts. Unlike the ghosts, this spirit was a massive threat to peace, serenity and tranquillity.

"HA, HA, HA! FLEE BEFORE PEEVES POTTSY!" Shouted the poltergeist, who enjoyed abandoning himself to the delights of dungbomb-throwing and anything which might annoy the residents of Hogwarts.

As she heard from Hogwarts legendary rumour mill the next day, the Flying lesson between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins on Thursday afternoon had been far more explosive. Alexandra wondered who had had the brilliant idea to pair for a class in a relative dangerous environment two Houses who were doing their best to tear each other apart. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs by comparison, had a set of challenges between the Houses, each trying to beat the other students academically and in long-term competitions the Hogwarts Cup. But this was, to emphasize it again, a friendly competition, with the Ravens and the Badgers never going further than throwing ironic remarks and a few jokes about the "permanents residents of the library" or "bookworms" and the "badgers" or "duffers". Ravenclaws were far nastier to everyone of their own House who didn't meet their expectations, as Alexandra had learnt rapidly to her disadvantage. She had no idea how Hufflepuff as a whole was doing with the problematic students.

Coming back to said Flying lesson, all began according to Lavender Brown when Nigel Wolpert, the first-year Lion who was always at the infirmary, found a way to rise fifteen feet with a training broom in less than five seconds, before falling and breaking his arm. While Professor Hooch escorted him to the infirmary, the situation on the lawn degenerated in the absence of the teacher. The source of the conflict was none other than Draco Malfoy, who had seized a necklace belonging to Nigel. The object which had been thrown away on the grass with the fall of the Gryffindor boy, and Draco Malfoy had seized the opportunity to tease the first-years Lions.

Too predictably, it didn't stop there. Wands were drawn, spells were exchanged with the Gryffindors gaining the ascendant from the beginning, until Draco used one of the school brooms to evade one of Leo Black spells, letting his followers on the ground eating the dust when they faced the charge of the enthusiastic Gryffindors.

The rest of the story was less reliable, as Lavender Brown had been busy singing the exploits of the Boy-Who-Lived, who heroically and with great risk to himself had managed to recuperate Nigel's necklace in a furious aerial battle. The Slytherin version was much different. Pansy Parkinson was telling everyone Neville, Leo and Ron had cornered Draco in the air three-on one, and the air battle had never existed in their version. In the Gryffindor report, Neville had managed to catch the necklace after three loops and a dive of fifty feet.

According to all witnesses, it was just after Neville grabbed the necklace Professor McGonagall had made an apparition, and taken Neville Longbottom and Leo Black away. Finnigan, Crabbe and Goyle had been sent to the infirmary, the three of them having been caught in a magical explosion made by Finnigan himself. The Great Hall was full of rumours by dinner that Neville Longbottom was going either to be awarded a medal or expulsed, when the news came in from Longbottom himself: he had been recruited to play in the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Seeker. Alexandra had no idea what a Seeker was, in fact she didn't know a lot about Quidditch, only having deduced it was played on flying brooms and that it was a very violent sport. Apparently, being Seeker was great news in the Wizarding World, because a good half of the school had stood up to acclaim him. It was like a famous professional football player had entered her former primary school by mistake.

What Alexandra knew was the strict minimum: an absolute rule of the younger students not being authorised to play this brutal sport during their first-year, as well as being forbidden to own their own broom. That this rule did not seem to apply to the Boy-Who-Lived proved once more to Alexandra that Hogwarts was decidedly a very weird institution. As she finished to eat and prepared to leave her table, she heard Ronald Weasley shouting Neville was the youngest player in a century to play Quidditch with his mouth full of food. Watching the Slytherin table, she saw a wave of green and silver boys flaunting their displeasure. She really hoped for Neville Longbottom he was as good as the rumours said on his broom. He was going to need this skill.

Finally, the end of the week brought Friday and her evening duelling lesson, with her lasting three rounds against Professor Flitwick before being too tired to continue. She had learnt two more offensive spells in the interval, which she unleashed against her Charms Professor. The first, named Flipendo, created a minor blast of blue wind, with more powerful versions allowing the caster to materialise and control a small tornado. Vermillious was a minor hex sending a mix of red light and red sparks to the target, creating mild discomfort. These new addition to her growing arsenal of spells did not had any effect on her grinning professor, who smiled with delight when Alexandra bombarded him with sixteen incantations, trying her best to survive a few seconds against him. The longest time she managed was twenty-nine seconds in definitive, and she knew Flitwick had toyed with her every time.

And with this session of duel her second week ended. No one had charged her in the corridors to assassinate her, but that didn't mean it had been an uninteresting week at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw House as a whole had decided that, as they could not expel her without their Head of House's agreement, they could always ignore her and give her an eternal silence, mocking her behind her back and spreading dirty rumours on her in the hope she came back begging at their feet to admit her officially in their ranks.

If only they knew most of her life thanks to the Dursleys had been already like that before, maybe these not-so-clever students could have imagined a cleverer and sounder scheme. Or at least one presenting higher chances of success. Alexandra herself was not going to tell them. Long ago, she had wanted to have friends and persons she could trust, but the terror inspired by Dudley during ten years in Little Whinging had killed these aspirations. People who wanted to be her friend one moment and scorn her the moment after would not have been good partners to trust. If the Ravenclaw boys and girls weren't interested in her, then she was more than happy to reciprocity in the same fashion.

With Ravenclaw in general trying to ignore her presence, Alexandra was free to observe the power struggles among the students and to eavesdrop on the others' conversations. Neville Longbottom, hero of the wizarding world known as the Boy-Who-Lived, was leading the "prank war" on the side of the Gryffindors. By Wednesday, Alexandra had seen students as older as fourth-years go to him before or after the meals to meet him, whether it was to present themselves or to submit pranks against the Slytherins. She had tried to do the same thing, by pure courtesy. Once. The Boy-Who-Lived tirade, how she had a debt towards him, had killed instantly any desire she might have had to become his friend.

It would have been bad enough to see this level of devotion and servility given to one first-year, but the same thing happened with Draco Malfoy in the House of Slytherin. Unlike Neville, Draco's followers seemed to lack conviction, though. Alexandra supposed it was because Draco's father had pressured somehow older students to bow to his son's authority, because the blonde pure-blood had nothing in his charisma inspiring devotion or loyalty. Everything he was close to her, Alexandra was more struck by the odour of his shampoo and other perfumes than his intelligence.

On the other hand, it hardly mattered in the short term. Except Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert for Gryffindor, the first-years Lions had univocally chosen their leader. The fact Neville had already received magical education before some of them knew a magical world existed no doubt helped, but there were other reasons: Neville could, when he wanted, be charismatic (until his natural arrogance re-emerged) and designate targets which for one reason or another fail to live up to the standards of stupidity and suicidal courage which was expected of Gryffindor House. Nigel Wolpert, a boy who was clumsy and lacked confidence in himself, was as much an exile in Gryffindor as Alexandra herself was in Ravenclaw, but without the strength of character to defend himself. His only support was Hermione Granger, and the bushy-hair girl was too much in love in books to realise she was in the same situation with her year-mates.

The hierarchy was not definitive, but it was on a good way to be, as Neville revealed himself one of the most skilled Gryffindors in hexes and jinxes. Leo Black, her supposed godfather's son, had taken the post of prankster-in-chief of his year, and Ronald Weasley those of sidekick. The manners and the meals habits of Weasley proved every day more disgusting, and everyone who had a weak heart had stopped at lunch to look at him. To be honest, Weasley was creating himself a reputation of gluttony, tardiness and laziness who made him persona non grata among the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. The youngest of the Weasley family currently at Hogwarts was also ruthless with those he believed were weaker than him. Thankfully, it was not a lot of persons right now with Weasley being a Gryffindor first-year, but it was not encouraging for the future. The senior girl in Gryffindor was Lavender Brown as the gossiper-in-chief, with Parvati Patil, Thelma Holmes and Fay Dunbar as her underlings fashion-victims and intelligence sources. Seamus Finnigan, a boy who managed to explode anything in his vicinity when he drawled his wand and Dean Thomas, a muggleborn fan of football, were considered to be subordinates to Black and Weasley.

In Slytherin, the order was less clear, because Malfoy and his new followers rarely spoke in the library and the corridors in loud, thrashing voices. When a student of another House came close to them, they closed the ranks and presented a united front, making any information difficult to find. The members of the House of Slytherin were also not adverse to sabotage their competitors' efforts. According to the rumour, Tracey Davis had been guilty of exploding Flora Carrow cauldron in Potions Class, but had avoided punishment affirming it had been Leo Black's fault, and Professor Snape had taken this affirmation at face value, taking twenty points from Gryffindor. Clearly, Draco Malfoy was in charge of the first-years for the moment, with Crabbe and Goyle as bodyguards, thugs, executants, but his power base was considerably less powerful than Longbottom. Pansy Parkinson led the hierarchy of the Slytherin House girls, and Theodore Nott led the rest of the boys.

Unlike the Gryffindors, watching the Slytherins try to do any magic was a spectacle that oscillated between the pathetic and the horrible. If the two massive boys answering to the names of Crabbe and Goyle had brains, they hid it well. Neither she nor the rest of the Ravenclaws had heard these gorillas utter a full sentence since the beginning of the school term. They only communicated in grunts and groans. She had heard some third-years Ravenclaws betting one galleon if "the two trolls following Malfoy knew how to write?"

The rest of their first-years Snakes were no better for a battle of wits. Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis were Malfoy's fan girls, following him like servants or damsels-in-distress depending the occasion. Millicent Bulstrode and Byron Vaisey tended more towards the Crabble and Goyle model in body, though thankfully a bit more intelligent in brains. They knew how to read and speak. Only Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini appeared to have any skill to practise magic, but their cold and distant character put them into the "outcast" position of Slytherin House. Not that they seemed to care. Blaise was as distant as the day she had met him on the train, while Greengrass continued to show a frosty face of a pureblood princess no one was able to crack. Theodore Nott and the Carrow twins Hestia and Flora were sadist and cruel to anyone who was not a Slytherin and a pureblood. It explained the struggle between the Carrow Twins and Davis, as Davis was a half-blood. It also explained why three-quarters of the schools never presented their backs to them. All in all, her impression of Slytherin House was not pretty, most of her year-mates were pureblood supremacist with ideals going from sadism to genocide. Charming.

Gryffindor and Slytherins had their hierarchies and their struggles for power, Alexandra had remarked. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had theirs too, but it was less precise and less structured. So far, she had not seen a true leader emerging in these two Houses. The Ravenclaws spent all their time in their books and doing group studies, not even bothering to explore the castle a bit. Terry Boot and Stephen Cornfoot went together. Kevin Entwhistle and Antony Goldstein were friends, but it seemed to have begun a long time before Hogwarts. Su Li and Padma Patil formed a Ravenclaw foreign group, and the last three girls, Lisa Turpin, Morag MacDougal and Mandy Brocklehurst studied together.

There was no post of leadership in the last House. The Hufflepuffs had taken the maxim of "All for one, one for all!" to a new degree and were travelling in a herd, all equal under the banner of the badger. It was a bit surprising, as Bones, Jones, Abbot, Macmillan, Moon were influential names in the Wizengamot and the rest of Magical Britain. But Hufflepuffs qualities on unity and equality weren't just for show and the celebrations.

It was on Saturday afternoon that the Slytherin-Gryffindor war ended in a cascade of explosions. Alexandra was walking on a corridor on the second floor, with several Hufflepuffs near her, when they heard a series of shouts, yells and a loud grumbling like someone had collapsed a major part of the castle.

All the persons present including Alexandra ran in the direction of the stairs and stopped immediately. Neville Longbottom was there, as were Leo Black and Ronald Weasley, all three unconscious. A third-year Gryffindor was lying along to them, tied in ropes. The part of the corridor where they were lying was in ruins, as someone had annihilated it in an explosion. A pool of blood was growing on the floor, making gasp those who were discovering the scene. On the wall near the three vanquished first-years and the tied third-year, large words painted in green were written: "NOT INVINCIBLE". The message couldn't have been clearer.

"Call the professors and Madam Pomfrey! Now!" Shouted a Hufflepuff prefect who had just ran into here.

"Alert the professors! The ghosts! The portraits!" The older student was in full panic mode, hyperventilating, his visage a red tomato colour and his legs and arms shaking significantly. A glance showed similar symptoms among the other Hufflepuffs. Not Duellists in that group, this much was evident.

Some Hufflepuffs went away alerting the teachers, while older students cut the ropes and try to reanimate the Gryffindors. Fortunately, while all of them remained unconscious, none were in danger of dying. Their wounds were qualified as "superficial" by the Hufflepuffs having magical healing knowledge, and Alexandra took their word for it. The arrival of Professor McGonagall and Snape on the scene forced the crowd of students to disperse, the attack being now the subject of every conversation on all lips.

The repercussions of the new aggression once it was known were astonishingly quick, given how the professors and the rest of the adults had handled the pranks and the attacks until then. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself had returned to the castle at once, summoned all the students to the Great Hall before dinner, and expressed himself "disappointed" in the students.

"This aggression on Mr Longbottom and his friends is intolerable!" Affirmed with a certain dose of hypocrisy the Headmaster, as there had been a similar attack perpetrated on two Slytherins less than twenty-four hours ago. "I can assure you the culprits once they are found will be severely punished!"

At this moment, Alexandra had to acknowledge Dumbledore was a very dangerous man. For an instant, the old senile man with a grandfather persona ceased to exist, replaced by a tyrant with a flow of magic expulsed by his body like a miniature storm. A sort of power aura was surrounding him, his fingers were almost expulsing miniature sparks and he silenced the crowd of students with a piercing stare.

One moment it was there, and the moment after the flow of magic was gone, the grandfather character making his return. The rest of the speech was fairly uninteresting: the pranks had to stop now, should the culprits denounce themselves their admission would be recognised when assigned detentions, those who had thrown "exotic" spells had to present themselves to the infirmary to give the counter-curses to Madam Pomfrey, and so on.

Watching all the students in the Great Hall, Alexandra doubted the speech of the Headmaster would incite many to reveal their culpability. Some who had done one pranks spells or two, perhaps, but not the masterminds of the prank war. There had been incidents that had broken all the rules this week at Hogwarts. A good example was the act that had flooded the toilets in the dungeons. Anyone who did that prank would be the recipient of Professor Snape's hate, a fate a student generally didn't want to be on the receiving end of. There had been cursed mail, spiked drinks and food in the Great Hall. Trapped Toilets, trapped bathrooms. Spells making your clothes invisible, thankfully Alexandra hadn't been caught by that one. Fireworks, destruction of homework, charming the ink to make it another colour or destructive to parchment. Hundreds of dung bombs had been launched in the unlikeliest places. Truly, the quantity of prank items and potions used in a week had been beyond imagination. The Slytherins and the Gryffindors were already whispering between themselves, and the words "slimy snakes" and "imbecilic lions" were loud enough to be heard. No student looked particularly repentant for any malicious prank they had made nor looked ready to be voluntary for hours and hours of cleaning in detention.

Several teachers, especially Professor Snape and Sinistra, former members of Slytherin, looked disgusted by the principle of Dumbledore intervening only when the Snakes began to strike back against the Lions and Neville Longbottom. The prank war would cease; it was less likely any member of the House would be on friendly term for this year of school. As this speech had gone on, the Boy-Who Lived, Black and Weasley were at the heart of the Gryffindor formation, the entire House ready to defend them should any party try an attack. All the Lions were smirking or showing arrogance on their face, and why shouldn't they? Alexandra had recognised Dumbledore's actions as a measure to protect the hero of the wizarding world and his supporters from heavy retaliation; older and more influential children had understood it too. It was a blatant show of favouritism to shield the Lions from their own actions. It also left the Slytherins unpunished. A subtle and perfect way to ensure the Gryffindor-Slytherin tensions would persist for the rest of the year, if not longer.

Sunday was a very calm day after this series of incidents, as the cessation of pranks and other facetious enchantments stopped the ambiance of chaos reigning from the start of the week. Alexandra profited from the sunny day to go running outside the castle. The surrounding of the Black Lake provided an excellent course, the grass was green and no student came bothering her. Maybe they were all allergic to physical effort? As she did her jogging taking great care to maintain a safe distance between her and the Forbidden Forest, her eyes lied on the Quidditch Pitch, unoccupied for the moment. The tryouts for each team had been delayed to the next week, given the chaos reigning in the school. Well, that and the fact no one with a neuron in his skull was tempted to fly when at every moment a member of another house could "prank" you when you were unarmed and at an height of at least forty feet in the sky. Perhaps it was her nature to be naturally suspicious but Quidditch looked like the perfect way to divide even further the four Houses of Hogwarts.

"Not like it is my problem." Said Alexandra Potter out loud, contemplating the sun illuminate the thousand-year old fortress in this beautiful September morning. "Surviving the madness of the students and the teachers is more than enough for me. Let the teachers deal with the school problems, it's what they're paid for."

In the years to come, Alexandra would remember this moment, when no darkness or cloud was visible in the horizon. And wonder how naive she had been.


	9. Second Round

**Chapter 9**

 **Second Round**

 **5th October 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

After the intervention of Dumbledore brought back a relative calm to Hogwarts, the days seemed to pass at supersonic speed for Alexandra Potter. She was still friendless as ever, and the looks of fear, anger or ignorance were present in quantities, but Alexandra had decided to let it go. If people were not willing to make the distinction between her and her father, then she had obviously no interest in befriending said persons. She had been alone at Privet Drive and in primary school, it wasn't exactly a new situation. In the meanwhile, the school year passed.

History class under Professor Binns and Tiroflan had become officially rest time or nap time, depending on the person which spoke about it. No one except Hermione Granger, the most motivated student of Hogwarts, could figure what Binns was muttering in his ghostly ramblings. No one, and this included the aforementioned Hermione Granger, could manage to motivate Professor Tiroflan into teaching History. The man was simply too lazy, period. Alexandra and the rest of Ravenclaw House studied the history books on their own free time, the Hufflepuffs used the archives left by countless generations of Hufflepuffs predecessors to study, the Slytherins stole or copied the information from the two first Houses, and the Gryffindors did nothing. Except Granger of course.

The same situation repeated itself in Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Professor Quirell passed his time stuttering and inventing fictional stories of his supposed-adventures in the Balkans, and Professor Devkins losses of memory were worsening. Sometimes, the latter even forgot he was a teacher for goodness' sake, and the former was ridiculous with his stuttering and his turban. Three days ago, Quirell had finally agreed to teach them a basic offensive spell, the Flipendo Charm. Alexandra, who knew the spell for more than half a month now, had understood nothing of the teacher's explications. The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors were useless, so it was self-study, self-study and self-study. Contrary to History, the Gryffindors showed more enthusiasm to learn and improve their repertoire of hexes, although to what extent the performance of Neville Longbottom in this course boosted them was unknown.

Potions, on the opposite side, had rapidly become the bane of the first-years existence. Contrary to what Alexandra had expected, Professor Snape had not improved his manner of teaching the Ravenclaws-Hufflepuffs after the first session. A short tutorial had been given on the different safety measures to brew in class. That was all. There was no explanation or lesson how to brew dangerous substances: on the best of days they had a short lecture and the instructions to brew the potion on the blackboard. On a bad day (which had already happened once), the children had to search the instructions themselves in their book. No help was forthcoming; either Snape passed his time grading their essays during their brewing times, or he walked around them, making awful remarks and lapidary comments, criticising the first-years for every mistake they did, no matter how minor and unimportant it was. Snape had not the behaviour and the patience to be a teacher, and it showed. About half of the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff first-years were outright failing this class for the moment. The only consolation was that they did better than the Gryffindors. If Potions class was a moment of worry for the Ravenclaws, it was pure hell for the Lions. Any abuse directed towards the Eagles and the Badgers by Snape was multiplied ten times by Snape when it came to the Gryffindors. Incorrect answers removed House points by the dozens. Leo Black was often expulsed before the end of the class for having the temerity to answer back to Snape. House Slytherin was supported, complimented, trained by their own Head of House (some rumours said Professor Snape taught his class beforehand how to brew the Potion of the day). Snape's favourite, the whining Draco Malfoy, took no greater joy than throw diverse volatile products in the cauldrons of his rivals and enemies, as well as his housemates who risked making a better Potion than him at the end of the hour. The children belonging to House Gryffindor were denigrated and given awful marks, whether they deserved them or not. Sometimes, it was a wonder there had been no deaths, although Nigel Wolpert visited the infirmary every Friday.

Alas for the House of the Snakes, Potions seemed to be the only area where they had the opportunity to shine. If the courses of Transfiguration the Ravenclaws shared with them were any indication, pure-bloods were at the bottom of the rankings when "real" and complicated magic had to be practised and the Professor had a modicum of impartiality. To be honest with herself, Alexandra had to admit the subject of Transfiguration was horribly difficult. None of the other classes managed to reach such levels of challenge. The theory was hard enough; casting the spells was tiring in terms of concentration, imagination and sheer power. After having first changed a match into a needle, they then had the task to change it back. By the fourth week of school, they had to transform different small objects built in wood into metal, then to bring back to their original shape. So far, only Padma Patil, Morag McDougal, Hermione Granger and Alexandra herself had managed to succeed all the transformations demanded. Unlike History or Defence Against the Dark Arts, where every class of the week brought no advantage whether you had listened or not, efforts mattered with Professor McGonagall. Achieving the transfiguration for the class and giving back your essays on time limited the amount of homework and assignments you had to give back at the next lesson. The vast majority of the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, Houses academically-inclined, handled it more or less well. The Slytherins and the Gryffindors did not. Crabble and Goyle had yet to transfigure their first match into a needle. Bulstrode, Vaisey, Nott and the Carrow Twins were still trying to transfigure back the needles in a permanent manner. As sad as it was, the only Slytherin first-year on the level of the Ravenclaws was Draco Malfoy. Which gave a very sad idea how bad the level of the Snakes really was.

In some manners, the same thing repeated itself in Herbology, even if it was more a dilemma to say if it was the Slytherins who were bad or the fact the pure-bloods really disliked putting their gracious and noble hands in the mud. Still, the warm and humid atmosphere of the greenhouse was less and less difficult to handle, as the temperatures in Scotland were dropping at an alarming rate. After a month of studying fungi, they now were studying the different types of magical mushrooms and growing them. A thing that should have been absolutely harmless, if Gregory Goyle had not proved his lack of intelligence yesterday by eating one, which revealed to be the equivalent of a magical laxative. Sending Crabble with him to the infirmary had been one of the funniest things that had happened since September 1st.

Speaking of the other classes, Alexandra had decided she really didn't enjoy Astronomy once the moment of novelty was past. Not only it disrupted her sleep schedule, but seeing the same constellations, stars and planets was boring after a while (which for her was two or three sessions). To add to this lack of interest, Astronomy was rarely an important factor in magic use. There were certain rituals, some potions, a few spells who needed a deep knowledge of Astronomy to function. Most of them were banned for being "Dark" by the Ministry, of course. No, Astronomy was not very interesting. Once she left Hogwarts, Alexandra could buy a non-telescope in a non-magical shop and observe the stars when she wanted, she truly doubted there would be more difference from what was seen in the sky.

Charms, on the other hand, was her favourite class. Professor Flitwick, in her humble opinion, was the best teacher of Hogwarts, as her tiny Head of House managed without effort to put a lot of magic practise in his lessons and give them a clear understanding of the magical theory behind each charm. The first two weeks, Flitwick had taught them Lumos and its variants allowing to use blue light, green light,...then the lessons had taught them useful charms for everyday utilisation: charms to sharpen your quills, prepare correctly your parchment, charms to clean your clothes, the Mending Charm Reparo, to repair objects which had been broken, and plenty of others useful magical tips. The fact that the Ravenclaws were with the Gryffindors also guaranteed a lot of fun, with Seamus Finnegan creating an explosion half the time he drawled his wand, Hermione Granger always looking like she tried to jump at every question, Ronald Weasley giving no attention to the class and sometimes sleeping through the course, Lavender Brown and the other Gryffindors girls gossiping in their corner.

The private lessons of duelling, always with Professor Flitwick, had become her moment where every week she lost most of her confidence and certainties. After one month and one week of magical instruction, Alexandra knew now four transfigurations spells, nine charms, seven jinxes, five hexes and three curses. As far as she knew, only Neville Longbottom and Leo Black knew more magic offensive spells among the first-years than her, a fact she was particularly proud of. It made no differences against Flitwick. In five private lessons, she had not managed to hit her Head of House once. The tiny Charm Masters had not sweated once either, or raised a magical shield, or taken off his smiling grin when they duelled. In fact, calling these spars "duels" was greatly stretching the truth, in Alexandra's opinion. Every round consisted in half a minute of her trying to launch a volley of spells, dodging, jumping, running and doing her best to survive a few seconds to the multiple stream and waves of magic coming her way. Flitwick was simply on another planet compared to Alexandra, moving at a superhuman speed and landing hits with a devastating precision. Last night, he had launched a vast blast of wind to end the last round, sending her like a doll in the middle of a tornado over the room until she admitted defeat. She was still sore of it right now, fifteen hours after the deed.

For now, it was a Saturday afternoon, and as she had finished her homework in the morning, Alexandra had gone exploring the castle. It had been a month Alexandra had entered Hogwarts, and she was confident she hadn't seen half of the rooms, to say nothing of the secrets the old castle was guarding. Marching through an abandoned corridor, she noticed all the rooms in that wing seemed to be abandoned.

Letting her curiosity take the best part of her, the Potter Heiress opened the last door before the stairs. By the atrocious noise the door made when she opened it, she concluded it hadn't been used in at least a decade. Judging by the maps, the old wizard photos and the dusty decorations, the piece had at one point or another in Hogwarts history been used as the base or headquarters for some kind of club. A long time ago obviously, because the vast amount of dust, the blocked windows, the ruined colours of a Slytherin banner made painfully clear Alexandra was the first visitor this room had for a very long time.

After a search of several minutes, she found a photo still in good condition compared to the ruined others on the walls. On it, about sixty or seventy students were smiling under a large banner proclaiming them as "The Hogwarts Adventurers club of 1970". It was interesting to note Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Gryffindors were present on the picture, proving that the divisions of today between the Houses had not been that bad when the photo was taken. Today Slytherin and Gryffindor posing for a photograph was simply unthinkable. They were also all concentrated on the same year of school, if the heights and the size of the students were any indication. That was a sobering fact for Alexandra. She had never heard of the Adventurer's Club, so she supposed it had been disbanded, but her own promotion at the Hogwarts Sorting Feast had welcomed only forty-five students. She counted the numbers of persons figuring on the photo taken in 1970 and arrived to the number of 58 students. It was not very likely wizards and witches had at one moment or another been all participating in the same club, so this promotion was in all probability even bigger.

Leaving the room and closing the door behind her in a loud rumbling, she watched the corridor with a new look now. Initially, she had believed the castle had had empty wings because it was the way the Headmaster and his staff wanted it: as a result if a new teacher was hired, the new professor could take an entire wing for himself, his classroom and his office. The photo was delivering things in a more sinister view: Hogwarts was looking emptier because it had less students, and so less need for professors and adults to teach them. The only question was where all these students had gone.

Even with her limited knowledge of Wizarding History, Alexandra felt she knew already the answer. War. The only event of note which could explain between 1970 and 1991 the disappearance of more than a quarter of the children enrolling at the best magical school of the British Isles was the magical civil war which had been fought between 1977 and 1981. Still, she hadn't realised the war had been so bad. All the History books in the library were so busy trumpeting the exploit of Neville Longbottom and singing the praises of Albus Dumbledore and the Ministry that there was no real account of the dead and the casualties list. Not at Hogwarts anyway. But if half of the magical student population had really left Britain in one fashion or another... that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all.

"Potter!"

Her thoughts brutally interrupted, Alexandra turned and grimaced. Alex Sykes and two fourth-years Ravenclaws were behind her in the corridor. They had all drawn their wands. Damn.

"Remember me, Potter?" Snarled Sykes.

His tone convinced Alexandra there was no point in trying to appease the older Ravenclaw: his face was a picture of hate. She noticed several scars on him that had not been there previously; as Madam Pomfrey was quite efficient in healing these sort of injuries, either he had left before the nurse could heal him or she had not wanted to leave without a reminder of the Sorting evening's battle.

"How could I forget the courageous and noble Alex Sykes," answered Alexandra in her best sarcastic tone, taking the opportunity to draw her wand from her holster and take a battle stance."The man who believes fighting a first-year on twenty-to-one odds is fair game?"

Sykes's face grew red at her insinuation he was unable to win unless the odds were overwhelmingly in his favour. His two followers behind him grew uneasy, the reminder of this particular night not a pleasant memory for them.

"I am going to kill you Potter," Sykes shouted in a crazy voice."Because of you I will never be prefect and I lost all chances to get a good job when I leave Hogwarts! This is your fault! BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

Alexandra ran to the stairs nearby just in time, as an enormous explosion rocked the door and the wall where she had been one moment ago. When the smoke cleared, there was a huge hole where the door had been.

She felt sick at this moment. Sykes had truly wanted to murder her. Then the training Professor Flitwick had taught her asserted itself. She shouted back a "FUMOS!" to disappear in the smoke, then began to rush up the stairs on another floor, leaving half a dozen of the basic Trap Jinx at the bottom of the stairs.

Alexandra heard a "AFTER HER!" from an enraged Sykes and she smiled. An angered enemy didn't think well, a fact she had learnt well with Dudley and his band of brutes pursuing through Little Whinging.

A shout of pain informed her one of her traps had caught at least one victim. Alexandra ran into the first corridor of the fifth floor in range and hid behind a pillar.

"So who is a coward now Potter?" Snarled Sykes, emerging from the smoke alone."It's not me who is running away like a- "

Alexandra did not left him the time to complete the sentence. Sykes in his precipitation had believed she was still on the stairs, while in fact she was in the corridor just behind him.

At the moment he started to taunt her, she casted a "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS" which took him in the head. Sykes collapsed on his back, immobilised on the spot.

The other two Ravenclaws, emerging in turn from the smoky stairs and seeing their leader fall, began to rain destruction on the corridor screaming the same incantation over and over again: "BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA! "

Alexandra rolled and ran behind different pillars, throwing several "FUMOS" to hamper the visibility and the precision of her opponents. And then when the two older students stopped for a moment to catch their breath, she counterattacked.

Against the power of the spells she had just been targeted, the two Tongue-Tying curses she hit her enemies in return with lethal accuracy were quite unimpressive, but they did the job. The two boys were not able to speak, and so apparently could not do any magic to counter her last magical attack. They were defenceless. It was time for pay-back.

The next thirty seconds were a one-side fight. As her two Ravenclaw opponents had just tried to murder her, Alexandra was not in any mood for mercy. She threw a good dozen of her nastiest jinxes and hexes on her two targets, and when she was finished the two young men looked like strange orcs with boils, pustules, tentacles, mucus and different colours plastered upon their skins. For good measure, Alexandra applied the same treatment to the paralysed Sykes and then hit them again with three overpowered Petrificus Totalus.

Tired, she took the time to grab the wands of Sykes and his friends, and then left the junction between the corridor and the stairs which looked like a battlefield. While she had planned to go to Flitwick to tell him of the incident, Alexandra was exhausted and only managed to reach the Ravenclaw common room before falling on her bed, mentally and physically drained.

 **6th October 1991, Hogwarts, England**

When she woke up on Sunday morning, Alexandra was really surprised to see the assassination on her had been completely unnoticed by the rest of Hogwarts. Not that she was kidding herself in believing she was among the students the staff of the school would mourn should the professors and the children learnt of her demise, but attacks on students tended to be notorious events even at the worst of times, and Sykes and the other boys being admitted to the infirmary should have made the news.

But as she arrived in the frequented corridors, the students whispering in low voices the names "Malfoy", "Longbottom", "Weasley" and "Black", she realised the reason why Sykes and his little plot to murder her had been missed was because the Headmaster and his staff had bigger fishes to catch. Just before passing the double doors of the Great Hall, a glance at the hourglasses showed a stunning contrast to the previous count the day before when they had been plenty of emeralds in the Slytherin hourglass and a few rubies in the Gryffindor one. Now the two hourglasses had only black, charcoal stones, in them, proclaiming to the entire populace of Hogwarts the Lions and the Snakes had dropped in the negative points for the second time of the year. Or the third. Or the fourth. Oh, well, they had dropped in the negative points again. Ravenclaw was now solidly installed in first place, with Hufflepuff a distant second. The count of the points was as followed:

Ravenclaw: 246 points.

Hufflepuff: 214 points.

Slytherin:-50 points.

Gryffindor:-120 points.

The Slytherins and the Gryffindors had lost each nearly 150 points in a single day when there were no classes! What sort of stupidity Longbottom and Malfoy had done this time?

Settling at her favourite place on the Ravenclaw table, Alexandra began to eat, listening discreetly a Hufflepuff recounting the latest exploit of the Boy-Who-Lived. Unlike the broom-and-necklace affair in the first Flying lesson, this new chapter in the struggle between Houses was far clearer in its reports. It had been another rather straightforward attempt initiated by Draco Malfoy to have his revenge on Neville Longbottom. As the leader of the first-year Gryffindor had received a brand-new broom or another thing from his grandmother, the leader of the first-year Slytherins had challenged Longbottom to an honour duel. The place of the duel? A corridor on the third floor. Specifically, the corridor where their dear Headmaster had promised the students "a very painful death" to those who dared to enter on the first night at school. Longbottom, Black and Weasley had walked there, ready to give the Slytherins a new humiliation, only to be welcomed by Professor Snape and the caretaker Filch, who took one hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor for being out of bounds and a month of detentions.

Draco Malfoy had never had any intention to go this honour duel. It didn't avoid the loss of one hundred and fifty points Professor McGonagall took from Slytherin for the "joke" of Malfoy. As Alexandra turned her eyes to the Slytherin table, she noticed Malfoy had lost quite a bit of reputation on the last day, seeing the disgusted face of some sixth and seventh-years young adults. Flitwick lecture in her private lesson had been accurate: honour duels, while absolutely illegal in the eyes of the Ministry, were quite deadly and serious affairs, where the reputation of each wizard who participated was deeply involved. Draco Malfoy had just thrown this custom away like dirt for a temporary advantage.

His threats of "When my father hears of this...", "My Father is on the Board of Governors, you will see..." and the accusations which went with them "This is all Longbottom's fault...", "Bloodtraitors, all of them..." didn't boost his reputation anymore and apart from Crabble and Goyle, every Slytherin was trying to ignore Malfoy this morning, except Pansy Parkinson and done or two Slytherins completely servile to the Malfoy family.

"POTTER!"

The shout was so loud all conversations between the students stopped immediately to see who had the bad manners to intervene like that at breakfast. They didn't have to wait long.

Alex Sykes and his two friends entered the hall, under the laughs and the applauds of the students. The three of them had apparently not been at the infirmary between the moment of their defeat and now. Indeed, the three fourth-years Ravenclaws had the appearance she had left them with after throwing at them her torrent of hexes. Before dozens of students, in full light, they looked absolutely hideous.

"GIVE ME BACK MY WAND POTTER!" Screamed Sykes, who sounded even more insane than yesterday, if that was possible.

She could not refrain herself to sigh.

"Why should I?" She politely asked. "You tried to murder me the day before Sykes. Why would I give you your wand when we both know the moment you have it back you will try to murder me again?"

The silent in the Great Hall was absolute, with only a few murmurs coming from some students.

"Why you little..." Snarled Sykes."I will ... I will..." The words were evidently failing him.

"Miss Potter, I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding between you and Mr Sykes," interrupted the soft, reasonable and venerable voice of Headmaster Dumbledore. The man, draped in flamboyant violet and gold shining robes, was showing to the world the very image of a noble Gandalf-like wizard, with the silver hair, beard and the pointed hat.

"If you give back their wand to Mister Sykes and his friends, I'm sure all will be forgiven."

For the first time, Alexandra watched the man in open disbelief. Surely the Headmaster of such a prestigious school like Hogwarts could not be that delusional, right? But as she watched the man smiled genially, she realised he really meant it. That left only two options. Either the man was really senile or he simply didn't care about the truth. In every case, he had no place being a Headmaster in a school of children.

She stood from her chair, and walked in direction of the Head Table. The Headmaster smile even got larger, until she reached Professor Flitwick.

"Miss Potter? What are you doing?" the voice of Albus Dumbledore asked her.

She withdrew the three wands she had taken from her opponents and gave them to her Head of House. The silence was total in the hall. No conversation, no whisper was coming from the students or the professors.

"Sykes tried to murder me with a Bombarda Maxima Professor," she told Flitwick, ignoring the Headmaster. She saw the tiny teacher paled at that. Several gasps were heard among the boys and girls assembled. "The others all used a lot of Bombardas and other potential lethal spells." The Potter Heiress continued.

"They were all prepared to murder me. Sykes shouted it loud and clear. You can check the wand with Priori Incantato, if you want."

Her Head of House simply nodded and by the murderous glare he sent to Sykes and his accomplices, he had a good idea what they had tried, and failed to attempt, contrary to Dumbledore.

Turning around, Alexandra marched outside the Hall in the same silence of death. Silence that was broken by Sykes, who shouted "This is not over Potter!"

Alexandra looked at him, and a quick glance at his eyes and his face saw only anger, hate and pure loathing. Whatever grief he had with Alexandra and House Potter before she arrived to school, his quest of vengeance was now over the limits of sanity. Sykes would not cease his efforts to kill her until she was dead and buried. He could not be reasoned. She left for the library, hoping against all hope Professor Flitwick would manage to convince the Headmaster to expulse the three teenagers from Hogwarts or at least Alex Sykes. If not, she had the sad certainty at least one Ravenclaw was going to perish before the end of the year. And if someone had to die, Alexandra intended firmly not to be the one to leave this world.

 **8 October 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

It was well beyond curfew when the two figures shrouded in dark robes met in a long abandoned section of the fourth floor.

"Well?"

"I have managed to gain a troll for the diversion." Said a cold, sinister voice which had nothing pleasant. "Have you managed to disable the wards of the corridor?"

"This ward-breaker stone will do the job." Replied the second figure, handing an unremarkable box to his interlocutor.

"Excellent. Now we have only to decide the moment to strike."

"What about Halloween? All the students are gathered in the same place, it will be easy to make the Muggle-lover and his followers panic."

"Agreed. Halloween it is."


	10. The Troll Incident

**The Troll Incident**

 **October 31st 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Strangely, Alexandra had not been surprised when Alex Sykes escaped once more the expulsion he so richly deserved. Five months ago she would have been, but the knowledge Professor Dumbledore had never expulsed someone from Hogwarts had reduced this hope to a utopia status. Oh, the fourth-year Ravenclaw and his two accomplices had been summoned to the Headmaster office and earned six months of detention, with the removal of every existing privilege until the end of their scholarship at Hogwarts, but truthfully, Alexandra did not believe it would be much a deterrent for a teenager ready to kill a girl three younger than him in cold blood. They had already lost a lot of privileges on the first day, and it had not stopped them to try again. Threats of being expulsed aside, there was a good chance they would make a third attempt. Still, a month has passed, and she had not been the recipient of another attack. Maybe the Ravenclaw students had learned some wisdom. There were far unlikely things having happened during the history of humanity after all.

Alexandra had been really busy for the rest of October: making sure she was in the top five best of her year academically, doing all her homework in time and exploring the castle were time-expensive hobbies. All the while the black-haired Ravenclaw tried to find a tactic to beat Flitwick in duel, without success. The rest of her spare time was spent petting Atalanta in the owlery, because for some reason her owl seemed disgruntled she had so few letters to carry and the only bribery accepted were owl treats and caresses. Thankfully, the month of October had seen a calmer atmosphere than September: apart from the now traditional spats between Malfoy and Longbottom, there had been no major incident of note. The fifth-year and seventh-year students were busy studying for their exams of the end of the year, crumbling under piles of book and looking like nocturnal animals. The Quidditch teams were training three times per week no matter if it rained or it snowed, and were as a result too exhausted the day after to do anything else of note. Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses had managed to cease to be in the negative points for the House Cup, although their chances to win it were definitely slim with Ravenclaws having a three hundred points' advantage. In the courses, the first-years had mastered the basics of each subject and were now advancing towards more advanced magic. In Transfiguration, they were changing metallic fork and knives into wood utensils. Charms taught them basic cleaning spells and methods to prepare properly ink and quills. The Potions were progressively harder and took longer to brew.

Today marked the moment she had been at Hogwarts for two months. While the magical castle felt more like home than the fourth of Privet Drive ever did, it was far to say she was in ecstasy concerning her school, or that she would pass her holidays here if she had another choice. Alas, the sole and only alternative was the Dursley family, of course. For the best or the worst, Alexandra's fate was linked to Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.

The present day was Halloween morning, and a delicious smell of pumpkin and other delicious meals floated in the corridors when they marched in the corridors for breakfast in the morning. At first, she had been surprised to see wizards celebrated a non-magical feast. Listening a red-haired Prefect pompously qualifying it as a Muggle-attraction had made her more curious and she had introduced enquiries on the subject in her last duelling lesson between two rounds where Flitwick sent her at every corner of the room with a disconcerting facility.

"The wizards celebrate Samhain and other important moments of the years like the equinoxes, Miss Potter. When they are following the Old traditions. Those witches and wizards practising call them the Old Ways." Flitwick's smile had turned to a more sombre expression."Alas, Headmaster Dumbledore had refused to celebrate these traditions since he was elevated to the position of Headmaster. The Headmaster has been very firm on his positions, and so there is a Halloween feast instead."

Seeing the disgusting looks the Slytherins threw all day at the orange decorations, she had not a hard time to wonder why. Halloween was a non-magical event which had been created in America as far as she knew: for purebloods to assist to this explosion of pumpkin, black and orange, it had to be a humiliation of the highest order. Promising to look in the books of the library for more information about the traditions, she walked to Charms class, where Professor Flitwick informed the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors they were finally ready to try the art of levitation.

In his usual demonstration coming for each practical lesson, Flitwick levitated Nigel's toad, several books, ink pots and quills together, which made all the class even more motivated to attempt the spell.

The Charms Master put the class into pairs. As there were eleven Gryffindors and eleven Ravenclaws, a Raven had to be paired with a Lion. It was Alexandra as usual who drew the short straw, being paired with Nigel Wolpert, who was shaking from head to toe. She wondered briefly if it was because his toad had just been levitated or because of her own presence next to him. The second assassination attempt on her had seen a resurgence of the rumours describing her as a Dark Lady, but the timidity of the auburn-haired Gryffindor had reached the status of legend so Alexandra couldn't dismiss any option.

On the other side of the room Neville Longbottom was paired like in all classes with Leo Black. Seamus Finnegan was paired with Dean Thomas. Ron Weasley was paired with Hermione Granger. Parvati Patil with Lisa Turpin. And so on.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!" Chirmed Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his impressive pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Alexandra laughed at this anecdote like a good part of the class. Having a buffalo suddenly appear from nowhere had to be a surprise of the highest order. Well, for a few seconds. The weight of an adult buffalo was such Alexandra was sure the unfortunate wizard had been crushed in relatively short order. She was not sure becoming famous for this mishap was something to look for, but Baruffio's disaster at least proved the lethality of magic when you ignored or didn't know the rules.

Despite the initial encouragements of Flitwick, levitation was very difficult. It was not as hard to understand as the long and incomprehensible calculus the students did in Transfiguration, but it was not the facility of the Lumos spell either. Alexandra had used to levitate several objects without a wand before her eleventh birthday, but the sensations with a magical focus were really different. Nigel Wolpert was no help: the shy boy had not managed to even enounce the incantation once. After fifteen minutes, the only moment interesting was Seamus Finnigan reducing his quill in ashes in a formidable explosion. This Gryffindor was a danger for everyone around him, in Alexandra's opinion. A fact that Dean Thomas, who was now shaking under the table, would not be arguing against until the end of this year. Even Flitwick face had harboured a preoccupied expression for a few seconds and had rushed to heal the burn marks of the clumsy Irish boy.

Hermione Granger, at the other side of the classroom, was the first person to make her quill fly ten minutes before the bell rang. One minute later Padma Patil managed it.

Exasperated by the lack of compliance coming from the object in front of her, Alexandra shouted "Wingardium Leviosa!" The targeted quill skyrocketed and slammed down against the ceiling with the power of a gunshot.

"Less power, more control, Miss Potter!" Grinned Flitwick, who cancelled her charm to let her destroyed quill fall down on her desk. The Potter Heiress emitted a parody of military salute before casting a Reparo at the martyred object she had just vented her frustration on.

After two more failed tries, Alexandra finally levitated correctly her quill, the recipient of her efforts slowly rising from table to stop two feet over her head. Nigel was looking at her with awed eyes, and she noticed the Gryffindor boy was looking less scared now.

Looking around, she saw most of the other students hadn't had much luck. When they tried. Neville Longbottom and Leo Black were plunged into a deep conversation where levitation wasn't the main subject. Unless they planned to use it in a prank or two against the Slytherins. Lavender Brown and Thelma Holmes were gossiping about dresses and make-up. Seamus Finnegan had stopped his attempts for now, aware the next time he tried something with his wand might set the room on fire or another unpleasant catastrophic event.

But the main attraction was at the table where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat. Hermione Granger had managed to make her quill fly. The efforts of the red-hair boy however, had led to nothing until now. Okay, nothing but a lot of noise and a headache for those who were in the vicinity.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ronald Weasley shouted every ten seconds, waving his long arms like a windmill or a baboon who had found a wand somewhere in a tree. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"You're saying it wrong," Alexandra heard Hermione Granger snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the "gar" nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron shouted, clearly not appreciating the critic. Then the boy looked at Leo Black behind him, who emitted a nasty smile in return.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" Cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it again!"

Hermione beamed, but her joy was short-lived as Leo Black threw her a Jelly-finger jinx in the back when Flitwick turned his attention to criticize the lack of efforts on the part of Lavender Brown, forcing her to let her wand fall on her desk. Alexandra saw the three Gryffindors look satisfied at this, like they had done something they should feel proud of. So much for Gryffindor being the House of nobility and courage. Why, the risk and the courage of cursing someone in the back were so dashing!

Weasley and most of the first-year Gryffindor having utterly failed in making their quill fly, they had to write a fifteen inches essay on the charm of the day and practise Wingardium Leviosa for the next lesson. It did not put Weasley in a better mood, and he profited from the occasion to lash with words at Hermione Granger:

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Alexandra heard him tell Neville as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. "She's a nightmare, honestly." Neville and Leo nodded exaggeratedly and laughed, as if what Weasley hadn't just in public insulted a member of their House.

Someone knocked into Su Li as they hurried out down the corridor to get to lunch. It was Hermione. Alexandra caught a glimpse of her face from the corner of the corridor – and was not surprised to see that the bushy-haired girl was in tears.

"I think she heard you." The voice of Leo Black sounded a bit ill-at-ease, coming behind her.

"So?" Answered Ron Weasley in a condescending voice. "She must've noticed she's got no friends. Honestly, I'm not sure this girl is a true Gryffindor, really. Now what's up for Lunch? I'm so hungry I could eat..."

Alexandra had to approve at this last words. If Ron Weasley was a true Gryffindor, then Hermione Granger certainly wasn't. Weasley was not on the level of her cousin Dudley Dursley as a bully, but only because he cared so much about food, sleeping and commenting about Quidditch. He never earned a single point for Gryffindor and lost scores of it, while Hermione Granger earned a hundred points by herself in two weeks. Hermione was a model student, while Ron Weasley passed all his evenings in detention with a professor or another, direct result of his pranks and misadventures with Leo Black and Neville Longbottom. Still, the derogatory remarks of Weasley had had a bad effect on Hermione Granger, as the bushy-hair girl didn't turn up for lunch or for the rest of the afternoon classes.

Evening came, and on her way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Alexandra heard a third-year Gryffindor affirm that Hermione was crying in the toilet of the girls and wanted to be left alone. The Gryffindor group who spoke about it did not appear really sorry or desolated by the news, Alexandra noticed. Noticing the dark glance Alex Sykes threw her at that very moment on the other side of the corridor, Alexandra hurried down the stairs, forgetting for the moment the sad excuse of loyalty existing in Gryffindor.

As she entered the Great Hall, the Halloween decorations put all her problems out of her mind.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. There were different shadow and orange magical animations, a lot of pumpkins and several decorations like skeletons, spiders and gargoyles. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had on the Sorting Feast's day. Alexandra and the hundreds of students began to eat, some with more manners than others. A large majority of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables served themselves with dignity and knew all the correct forks and knives to use for all the meals. Others had a less perfect behaviour. Ron Weasley was swallowing and chewing his food with the grace of a pig, Alexandra saw some Gryffindors next to him taking a green colour at this horrifying spectacle of mastication. Crabbe and Goyle were other examples of bad manners and disgracing conduct.

Alexandra had just taken a second part of a meat looking and tasting like chicken when the two Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors came sprinting into the Hall. Devkins had his "I forgot something important" look. Quirell had blood on his clothes, bruises on his arms, his turban was half-detached and he was looking terrified.

Everyone stared at them. Devkins tried to articulate "I forgot, forgot..."

Quirell brutally interrupted him, shouting in a panicked scream "TROLL! THERE IS A TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

"Thought you ought to know." He added unnecessarily in a comatose tone. And then he fainted and collapsed on the floor. Devkins was standing like a zombie, not reacting to the panic he had just unleashed.

The Great Hall dissolved immediately in chaos. Students shouted, cried, screamed, asked questions, try to make themselves heard. It took several purple spells with loud "BANGS!" exploding from Headmaster Dumbledore's wand to bring back silence.

"Prefects," the silver-haired wizard rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Alexandra groaned. They were in a secure position in the Great Hall, but the man who believed he was Merlin reborn was sending them with just older students to their common room. What a strategic mistake. Alexandra had just a horrible thought then. Was not the Slytherin common room located in the dungeons? Unfortunately, before she had the time to signal this minor problem to a figure of authority, a prefect took her with her fellow first-years towards the double doors.

"Follow me!" Shouted the black-haired boy, who looked submerged by the chaos and not in the figurative sense. "Follow me! Stick together, first-years! Make way, first-years coming through! Prefect coming through! Excuse me! First-years! Prefect!"

His efforts were...insufficient to say the least. The crowd of students was coming in every direction, and Alexandra was not long in losing sight both of the Prefect and her year-mates. She nearly avoided crashing in a fifth-year Gryffindor on the second floor, but was pushed by an elder Ravenclaw not ten seconds later. Vexed from being a punching ball in the stairs, Alexandra took a moment in a nearby corridor to regain her breath and think about another path to reach the Ravenclaw common room.

After ten seconds of observing her surroundings, she knew approximately where she was, and hurried down a corridor to the left to go in the direction of a secret passage which would let her reach the fourth floor rapidly. After that...

She had just turned a corner when she heard quick footsteps coming in front of her. Quickly she hid behind the statue of a stone griffin which was fortunately not far from here. To Alexandra's surprise, it was not a Prefect but the Senior Potions Master, Professor Snape himself. Strange, as all the teachers were supposed to go with Dumbledore in the dungeons to deal with the troll, and she had thought the Head of House Slytherin would care about the fate of his students, who perhaps were on their way to meet a troll at this very instant. Snape appeared to be at the limit of running, turned to the left in a dark corridor and disappeared from her view. She breathed quite loudly in relief. If the professor had seen her, she would have had a lot of points deducted and...

"Potter!"

Alexandra had just left the place behind the griffin statue that a voice in front of her called her. But it was not Snape. It was Alex Sykes.

Groaning, Alexandra realised the fourth-year student had had to follow her when she was separated from the rest of the Ravenclaw students. Seeing his face, his intentions were not hard to guess.

"BOMBARDA!"

"Seriously, Sykes?" she replied, rolling again the griffin to escape the shockwave the fourth-year had sent towards her. "Do you know only that spell?"

"You will die Potter! BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA!"

Seeing her enemy was doing his best to destroy the corridor, Alexandra replied by drawing her wand, casting an overpowered "LUMOS!", and Sykes stopped instantly his spells, falling to his knee and screaming:

"My eyes! My eyes!"

She was debating with herself what spell to use to finish him when a disgusting smell interrupted her reflexion. It was really foul, like if someone hadn't washed in a year, or the kind of odour one obtained when dustbins were left open a long time to rot. A low grunting echoed in the deserted corridor.

"Oh no."

She realised after a moment of stupor it was her own voice. BLAM. BLAM. The floor was shaking, warning of the sign a thing really heavy was coming in their direction. Alexandra was still hidden behind the griffin, but Sykes was still screaming and crying "My eyes!", attracting the thing approaching.

To the end of a passage situated to her right, a colossal form was advancing. BLAM. BLAM. It was in the shadows, so she could not see as clearly as she wanted, but it was huge. Bigger than the gatekeeper Hagrid for sure.

And then the huge being passed near a torch. Alexandra did her best not to scream but it was hard. Twelve feet high, a darker and putrid grey as skin. A great and large body with a small bald head on top of it. Short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was horrible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. Mountain troll. Alexandra had never seen one, of course, but she read a lot of books about magical creatures in the library. Classed a creature on the XXXX level, the mountain trolls had extremely heavy skins resistant to magical attacks and a very limited intelligence. Only the most powerful spells could take apart their natural protection. Spells that Alexandra didn't know and wouldn't have had the power to cast anyway.

"WHAT IS THIS? POTTER!"

Alexandra snarled. Alex Sykes had chosen the worst moment to recover his sight. Worse, he had walked in direction of the griffin where she was hidden, and judging by the guttural groan of the troll, both of them had been noticed by the monster. Her chances to vanquish a troll were so low it would take a miracle. She did the only sane thing she could. She ran.

"RUN! SYKES! RUN!" She shouted as she rushed towards the end of the corridor. Of course the fourth-year wanted her dead, but she figured she could wait one hour or two before demanding Flitwick to lambast the imbecile for another unsuccessful assassination attempt.

"BOMBARDA!" Or not. She turned in her race to see what had Sykes had decided to do.

Just in time to see the troll taking a full dose of the Blasting Charm in his torso. It had no effect whatsoever, apart from the obvious one of angering further the troll. Sykes was planted in the middle of the corridor, looking stupefied, as if couldn't believe his magic had failed him. And then the troll raised the club, before smashing the head and the rest of Sykes body into a bloody pulp.

"No..." Alexandra whispered, staying open-mouthed for a few seconds. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. The troll accelerated in her direction, apparently not satisfied by having scored his first kill of the day. She ran, but she realised rapidly it was futile. At each turn of the corridor, she managed to gain a bit of time, but the troll was faster than her in straight lines. The beast had almost caught already, being far faster than it looked.

She saw an opened door on her right, and threw herself inside before closing the door.

"Alexandra? What are you doing here?"

At this moment, Alexandra remarked three things. One, the key for the door had been left outside. Two, she had entered a girl's toilets. Three, she was face to face with Hermione Granger, who by her look had been busy crying in said place for the best part of the day.

CRAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The door almost fell from the first assault of the troll.

"Granger, there's a mountain troll outside this room who wants every human in this castle dead!" Alexandra knew her tone was full of panic and despair but she simply didn't care. "Is there another door where we can escape?"

"What ? No, no..." Hermione Granger was in the verge of panic and Alexandra took her by the arm and led her in the back of the toilets. The girl was terrified and already emotionally unstable from the morning classes. She would not be of any help.

CRAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!

This time the door of the toilets didn't resist the new assault of brute force. It exploded in a cloud of debris, creating a cloud of dust where noting was visible for an instant. The troll had to slouch slowly by the passage it had just created to come into the room, but it managed to enter the toilets, in all its ugly splendour.

And then it roared. The smell was incredibly nauseating, and Alexandra heard Hermione behind her softly crying. In a large movement of his club, the troll demolished a dozen of sinks, forcing her to jump.

"Granger, close your eyes!" Alexandra ordered. "LUMOS!"

Reopening her eyes after three seconds, Alexandra saw the troll pulverising the mirrors and the toilets near him, blinded by the explosion of sunlight she had just generated. It had enraged the troll beyond measure, but it had worked. The troll was evidently blind and howling in pain from her spell. So indirect attacks against the trolls had a chance to work.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Alexandra incanted the spell they had just learnt the morning before, as it was obvious her hexes and jinxes were useless against the creature. And then she threw everything she had at her disposition in the room in the direction of the troll, funnelling all her rage, frustration and anger she had in her. Four sinks, nine toilets, and three pipes were sent hurling towards the troll in close succession.

The last toilet was the good one: the troll took it directly in the head, his head was slammed against the wall and the troll fell on the floor in an impact that shook Hogwarts to its foundations. Closing the distance, she saw the toll had impaled its head on one of the pipes she had just thrown, creating an explosion of blood, brain and gore.

Alexandra fell on her knees and vomited all her dinner on the floor, not able to bear the sight of the carnage she had just provoked. She was tired. She was exhausted. She had seen too much tonight, and the death of the troll was the breaking point. She fell on her knees and vomited the rest of her dinner in front of her.

"Is it... is it dead?" asked Hermione Granger behind her, who by her looks was also green.

"Think so." replied Alexandra weakly." Unless it re-grows a head in the next minute." Unlikely, as mountain troll had no regeneration power for his organs or his arms, never mind its head, but with her out of breath, she wasn't in condition to fight anymore today. She really hoped there wasn't a second mountain troll in the school this evening, because she wouldn't have a chance in hell to defeat it tired as she was.

Loud footsteps made the two girls look up. Alexandra hadn't realised what a racket she and the troll had been making in the toilets, but in the few minutes they were there, they had made enough noise to wake up the dead in every part of the castle. Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape and Flitwick, with Quirell and Devkins in the rear.

Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. Devkins looked absently at the creature, his brain apparently refusing to see the creature in front of him. Pathetic spectacle for pathetic Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors.

Snape and Flitwick went closer, bending over the troll, and examining its corpse. Professor McGonagall was looking at Alexandra and Hermione. Alexandra had never seen her look so angry. Her face was livid and her lips were white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" Said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"Doing your job, Professor" Alexandra replied, insisting on her title. The venom in her voice surprised even her.

"I lost my way in the crowd to go back to my common room. Then I duelled Alex Sykes for his third assassination attempt of the year, and then the troll pursued me across the second floor before I found refuge here. Finding no other door, I was forced to fight the troll. I killed it. End of the story."

" Potter. Was it necessary to kill the troll to prove your point?" Asked Snape in his typical menacing tone.

" Was it necessary for the troll to massacre Alex Sykes ?" She saw all the professors except Snape going livid at her rhetorical question. Good, they understood how much they had screwed up. " Absolutely not, but it was me or the troll. I preferred it was the troll."

"Is Alex Sykes dead?" Asked Flitwick in deceptive calm voice, his eyes throwing lightning at Dumbledore.

Alexandra grimaced before nodding positively. "Without most of his head and his body smashed by the club of the troll, he is surely dead. Even if he had survived, no one was here to heal him, so I suppose he would have succumbed to his injuries."

"Very well," Said McGonagall in a shocked voice." Severus? "

Snape nodded and then left the room, no doubt going searching the mortal remains of the Ravenclaw fourth-year.

"You were extremely lucky to survive this troll, Miss Potter and Miss Granger, fifty points for each of you." Affirmed McGonagall."You may return to your common room."

Alexandra looked at the head of Gryffindor House, wondering what was wrong with the woman. She had just killed a monster, told them a student was dead, both she and Hermione were looking dead on their feet and she sent them back to their beds? At that moment, any respect she could have had for Minerva McGonagall as Deputy Headmaster and authority figure inside Hogwarts died.

She passed her Head of House, whispering she would like to come to his office tomorrow, before leaving the toilets. Flitwick flicked his wand in answer, cleaning her of the dust and the vomit she had on her robes on the spot. Throwing a last glance at the troll corpse, Alexandra swore she would avoid these toilets for the rest of her life at Hogwarts.

She was on her way to climb up the stairs to the fourth floor, when Hermione Granger ran to her and held her in her arms thanking her. Perhaps after all, mused Alexandra, they were some advantages to kill a fully grown mountain troll.

Everyone had long gone to sleep inside the castle when two dark figures met in an abandoned section of the sixth floor.

"Our plan has failed. My superiors are not going to be happy."

"Yes, but how could I suspect Dumbledore would put a bloody Cerberus to guard the Stone?"

"You couldn't. Now that we know, how do we get rid of this beast? A Killing Curse could do the job..."

"Fool! An Unforgiveable would alert Dumbledore and all the Professors the moment we cast it! Find another solution. I will deal with Snape and concoct an excuse for the Muggle-lover."

"I'm sure your so-called spy is working for the enemy now."

"That's always the risk with double and triple-agents. And I promise you he will pay the price. I will make sure his agony will be long and painful when it comes."

"Next meeting on Friday? I should have an answer by then and a troll of replacement ready. Did you see what the Potter girl did to the beast?"

"Yes. I must admit this Ravenclaw has...potential."

Then the two figures went each their way and the silence came back in the corridor.


	11. Quidditch in the Arena

**Quidditch in the Arena**

 **Chapter 11**

 **November 9th 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"Hurry Alexandra! We are going to be late to the match!"

Alexandra rolled her eyes at Hermione Granger next to her. The Gryffindor was literally skipping on her feet of enthusiasm.

"No we aren't. The match begins at eleven o'clock. Besides, is it not you who were supposed to hate Flying and everything related to Quidditch?"

Hermione emitted a groan of disappointment. Alexandra laughed.

"Where is Nigel, anyway? It's him we're waiting... oh never mind." Nigel Wolpert had just arrived, missing the last three steps of the stairs and gliding on his stomach in front of Hermione. Alexandra sighed. She had to admit the lack of self-confidence and the clumsiness of the boy had been funny in the firsts days of school, but Nigel's accidents had long since ceased to be amusing and were now simply sad and discomforting. Alexandra didn't know when the problem started and who was at the origin of it, but the shy Gryffindor had huge issues due to this emotional stunting.

Helping Nigel standing on his foot, she turned to Hermione.

"Now that everyone is here, we can go." She said in her best humorous tone.

Both girls providing support to Nigel who looked groggy from this last accident, their little group began a slow walk on the grounds of Hogwarts in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, following the tail of the crowd going to watch the match.

They were now nine days after that fateful Halloween evening, and the weather had turned terribly cold for Alexandra's taste. The mountains around the school were now grey, the Black Lake was showing signs of developing ice on its surface, and the ground was covered in frost. Winter had not completely supplanted Autumn, but it was only a matter of days. According to Professor Sinistra, the first snowfalls were waited in one week or two at Hogwarts. Marching outside the castle was less and less pleasant, forcing the trio to wear heavily-warmed robes and capes.

It was a weird feeling not to be alone for Alexandra. The ten years she had lived at the Dursleys had been a life of solitude and survival. She had never had any friends in the non-magical world, and truthfully after how the two first months had gone, Alexandra had been ready to accept the same scenario was going to repeat itself among their magical counterparts. With the notable exception of Professor Flitwick, who had given her a chance to shine in private duelling lessons, most of the students had been busy ignoring her, or hating the family she represented. The rest of the teaching staff had been a bit more involved, but none of the adults except her Head of House had been willing to break the glass existing between student and teacher for her. Especially not for her, last heiress of a family known as traitors in Magical England.

When she had entered the Great Hall, the morning after she vanquished, no, killed the troll; it had been the first day of school all over again: people looking at her like she was a nightmare, a Dark Lady about to go on rampage and conquering the world. To her great surprise, Albus Dumbledore had announced Alex Sykes had been seriously injured by the troll and been evacuated to the magical Hospital of Saint Mungo's for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This had been rather unbelievable for two reasons. First, Alexandra was pretty much sure no witch or wizard, no matter how powerful, could save the life of a person whose head had been crushed. Secondly, the vague allusions afterwards made by the Headmaster had absolutely not explained how long the recovery of the wounded boy was going to take. If she had to be honest, the black-haired Ravenclaw had to admit the event was particularly troubling from the common student's view. The troll was supposed to be in the dungeons, and yet an older boy was attacked far above the level of the ground? It was really disturbing, and Alexandra had good reasons to suspect the teaching staff had been ordered to give a censored version of the events to avoid draping the Great Hall in black banners of mourning. The angry gaze Flitwick and Snape had been sending all over the place indicated not everyone had agreed with this decision. Alexandra had considered releasing her version of the events. The black glares she continuously met had put an end to this plan.

Nevertheless, outlandish rumours were all over the place. One of the rare fact available to Hogwarts population had been the presence of Alexandra on the scene. As a result, boys and girls were running away when she approached. It was the whispers and the rumours from the start of the year all over again. For a day or two, she had taken the role of Sauron, Dark Lord of Middle Earth, and the Hogwarts students were the disorganised Hobbits in this comedy. Except Hermione Granger had refused to follow the rest of the students. The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl had defied custom and tradition to come sitting with her at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast and for all the next meals after. And after a day, Nigel Wolpert had followed.

In her cynical moments, and she had had plenty since she had set foot in the castle, Alexandra had thought Hermione was just taking advantage of an opportunity and grabbing a chance to leave the Gryffindor table. Ronald Weasley had, according to Hogwarts rumour mill, refused to go back on his Halloween insults, and Neville Longbottom had not made any move which showed Weasley was in the wrong. Seeing all the bridges being burnt in Gryffindor, it was somewhat logical the Muggle-born girl would try to follow her, to see if the grass was greener elsewhere.

But Hermione had surprised her. It had taken Hermione almost being killed by a mountain troll to do it, but the girl had had her confidence in the teachers severely affected, and was not so prompt anymore in quoting the rules and criticising those who do not conformed to them. Hermione was intelligent, read a lot of things including the _Lord of the Rings_ by Tolkien , and Alexandra had not to be scared about the girl being near her to copy her essays or profit from her. In less than a week, the two were together every time they could, and Nigel had been included in the group three days after Halloween. The auburn-haired boy was timid, but he was good company once one got passed his clumsiness.

They had to be strange sight in the corridors, Alexandra was sure: her, the black hair, green eyed half-blood, Ravenclaw and Heiress Potter. Good student but unpopular due to her family's past. Hermione, a Gryffindor with her bushy hair, prominent teeth and brown eyes. No magical parents, an out-of-norms intelligence but a bossy temperament which had isolated the girl in the ranks of the Lions. Nigel, dark brown hair and black eyes, shy and not courageous at all, a pure-blood Gryffindor who wondered three times a day if he had been sent to the wrong House at the Sorting. Mocked and laughed by the boys that shared his dorms and the rest of the first-years. Not that Alexandra was interested a lot about the opinion of others.

Flitwick had congratulated her to break out of her isolation and make friends, although he had also demanded a complete and accurate recall of her adventure with the troll, and her Head of House approving her was more than she needed. Fortunately, these times the rumours of her future ascension as a Dark Lady and two Gryffindors joining her circle of friends had not lasted long. The next week-end was the date of the first Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

As Hermione had managed to obtain _Quidditch through the Ages_ at the library on Wednesday, she was going to assist to her first match as a spectator knowing a bit about the rules. Alexandra had been really worried reading the book detailing the main rules, as the pictures had described an event which had nothing to be shamed against the events with the troll. An official Quidditch team had seven players: a Keeper, three Chasers, two Beaters and a Seeker. The Chasers had to throw a big red ball called the Quaffle through one hoop of to score a goal. Each goal was worth ten points. The role of the Keeper was to make sure the Chasers didn't score.

The insane role of the Beaters turned what could have been a funny magical basketball mounted on brooms into a bloody sport. The Beaters had to protect their side from the Bludgers, two black balls that were incredibly aggressive and had the speed to catch with the players. To make matters worse, the Beaters also had the right to kick out of the game their opponents with the Bludgers, and professional games were not rare where a team finished with all its members at the hospital. Lethal casualties had decreased since the invention of the sport, but more than one match had been finished with funerals at the local cemetery. _Hogwarts: A History_ proudly proclaimed it had never happened in the Scottish school. Then again, neither supposedly had a troll attack. Last but not least, the player known as the Seeker was charged to catch the Golden Snitch, a tiny and little golden ball with wings. Catching the Golden Snitch awarded one hundred and fifty points and ended the match. Apparently, the magical swiftness, speed and small size of the Snitch was incredibly difficult. Oh, and the match did not end before the Snitch was caught, so the match could last in theory eternally.

To speak of the anecdotes, Alexandra had learnt that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert or in the Himalayan mountains. The flying brooms used by the players had to be from one of the homologated Broom Companies, of which they were six hundred and twenty-two worldwide.

To make things even spicier, a victory in a Quidditch match at Hogwarts got the victorious House one hundred points for the House Cup, which explained the popularity of the students participating. The teachers rarely gave more than twenty points maximum during a lesson for a single student, but the same thing was not true when it came to remove them. Quidditch was the key moment of the year to earn a maximum of points in a minimum amount of time.

Alexandra, Hermione and Nigel mounted to one of the Gryffindor stand, slightly on the edge of the rest of the Lions House, not that the members of Gryffindor deigned to throw them a look. Seeing the two teams were walking on to the pitch, the match was about to begin.

Even from the distance, you could tell the Slytherin team was not playing in subtlety: all its members were large and tall boys, chosen more for their muscles than their brains. Their chasers were Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington, the Beaters were Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, the Keeper was Miles Bletchley and the Seeker was Terrence Higgs. In contrast, the Gryffindor team looked more equilibrated, with their Chasers being three girls: Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell. The Keeper was Wood, their captain. The Beaters were the Weasley twins Fred and George (or George and Fred, nobody had figured who was who ), infamously known as the Twins Terrors on the pitch. The Seeker was of course, rolls of drums, the great, the famous, the Boy-Who-Lived! Neville Longbottom in the flesh, riding a brand-new broom. For this match, Professor Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

After a little speech given by the referee to the two captains, the two teams placed themselves in position and mounted their brooms. Professor Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, soaring in the air like birds of prey after their meal. The match had begun.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The commentator was hardly going to be impartial in this match, Alexandra smiled to herself. The boy doing the commenting was Lee Jordan, the partner in mischief and pranks of the Weasley twins. If the whispers coming from the Gryffindor common room were accurate, Lee was involved in about ninety per-cent of the incidents where the prank masters used the Slytherins as guinea pigs. In a stand under the commentator and the professors, Alexandra saw a dozen or so of adults, which appeared to be taking notes and photographs. Certainly journalists or recruiters for a Quidditch team in search of new talents. The majority were paying no mind to the commentaries and were scrutinizing the participants with objects looking like a modified version of binoculars.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE! GRYFFINDOR LEADS 10-0!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

For the moment, the match was a duel of chasers, with beaters and keepers taking second place. Longbottom and Higgs were circling over the other players, searching for any hint of the Golden Snitch. When Angelina Johnson had scored, Longbottom had done a couple of aerial acrobatics, but was soon back to staring around for the Snitch after a remonstrance of Oliver Wood. Longbottom narrowly avoided a Bludger, which was sent in the direction of Marcus Flint by one of the Weasley twins.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan said. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Evidently, it was the tiny gold ball, and the two Seekers had seen it too. Longbottom dived downwards after the streak of gold, closely followed by Terence Higgs. They were racing towards the Snitch shoulder to shoulder in mid-air. By Alexandra's judgement, Longbottom was better and faster than Higgs with his new broom, he gained a slight advance, raised his arm...

BLAM!

A roar of rage and anger rose from the Gryffindors on Alexandra's left. Marcus Flint had blocked Neville Longbottom on purpose and Neville's broom span off course, the Boy-Who-Lived holding on the handle for dear life, all will to hunt the Snitch forgotten on the instant.

"FOUL!" Screamed the Gryffindors like a single wizard, with a few others insulting Marcus Flint, his parentage and whether his House was sleeping with trolls. Professor Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. In all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Not far from Hermione, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"This isn't football, Dean," Ron Weasley reminded him. "You can't send people off in Quidditch – and what's a red card?"

In her mind, Alexandra approved with Dean. Given how Quidditch was violent, if red cards were given, Slytherin wouldn't last half an hour before having all their players out of the game. Alas, there were no expulsions in Quidditch. What a pity. Lee Jordan as commentator had apparently abandoned his supposed position of partiality and was busy massacring the captain of Slytherin metaphorically. Professor McGonagall next to him was finding very difficult to moderate his sentences.

"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –"

"Jordan!" Growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul –"

"Jordan, I'm warning you –"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who marks it, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

The score was now twenty to zero in favour of Gryffindor, and the Slytherins stopped caring about the rules, furious the Lions had taken an early advance unopposed. The Slytherin Beaters Bole and Derrick were now throwing the Bludgers with the speed of missiles towards the Gryffindors Chasers. Alicia Spinnet saw her head missed from a hair by a Bludger sent by Bole, and Fred Weasley (or was it George?) replied by returning it in the stomach of Derrick, who maintained himself with difficulty on his broom with his two hands, breathing hard.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no …"

The Slytherins were cheering, moving in a green and silver wave-manner. Twenty to ten for Gryffindor.

At this moment, Alexandra realised like the entire audience something was dreadfully wrong with Neville Longbottom and his broom. Instead of searching the Snitch, the first-year Gryffindor was doing zig-zags and violent movements who were on the verge of unseating him.

Hermione had noticed it too.

"What is he doing?"

"It looks like he's losing control of his own broom." Replied Alexandra worried. As arrogant and an pompous that Neville was, Alexandra did not want to see Longbottom fall from his broom. Seeing Alex Sykes die last week had given her a very bad view how horrible a death could be."Maybe something broke when Flint slammed in it?" She asked Hermione. Many professors and older students all around the Pitch were drawing their wands, in the likely case they needed to save the Gryffindor Seeker if he fell.

"Is it possible? I mean the brooms are protected by a lot of enchantments. They are always locked away in the dormitories, so I can't be sure but..."

Alexandra touched Hermione's arm, interrupting her and showed her the teachers stands."Don't bother." Sure enough, not one but two teachers, Senior Professors Snape and Quirell no less, were muttering something under their breath. At this distance, Alexandra couldn't hear anything, but she was ready to bet the source of Longbottom problems was there.

"The question is," Alexandra told Hermione "Who is cursing the broom and who is trying to save Longbottom's skin."

"What should we do?" Asked Hermione, looking more and more agitated by the second.

"Nothing. Look." Said Alexandra, showing Hermione Leo Black running towards the teachers stands, the Black Heir having reached the same conclusion as her with far more alacrity.

Before she could say another word, the whole population of Hogwarts was on their feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Longbottom safely on to one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. A few seconds of futile efforts later, the two Gryffindor Beaters dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

Marcus Flint, in good Slytherin, profited from the fact no one had any attention left for the match to seize the Quaffle and scored six times without Wood moving to stop him.

"Come on, Leo," Alexandra heard Ron Weasley grumbled desperately.

As Alexandra watched the teacher stand, she stood corrected. Leo Black had not reached the same conclusion as her. The black-haired Gryffindor had ran his way across the teacher stand and did not bat an eye when he knocked a muttering Professor Quirell headfirst. Reaching Snape, he crouched down and threw a sort of acid spell on the Potion Masters robes.

It took less than ten seconds for Flitwick next to Snape to realise the Potions Master was in danger, and the shout of the Charms Master broke Snape attention from the game.

Looking back to the game, Alexandra saw Neville Longbottom clamber back on his broom. So Snape or Quirell had definitely been cursing the broom of the Boy-Who-Lived, Alexandra mused. One more assassination attempt at Hogwarts, and they were not even to December. Ron Weasley, as subtle as ever, was shouting "YES!YES!" with the same terrifying enthusiasm he ate his food at dinner. With the agitation in the stand of the professors, Leo Black had profited from the occasion to discreetly escape, although by the anger showed by the different professors who had been in the middle of the acid spell, the Heir of the Black Family was going to receive a few more detentions if the teachers realised he was the culprit.

Neville Longbottom was now speeding towards the ground with his Nimbus 2000, and Alexandra watched him, wondering why the Boy-Who-Lived had his hand to his mouth like he was about to vomit. Air sick maybe? Anyway, Longbottom hit the pitch on all fours, his speed having fortunately diminished and the ground being enchanted with Cushioning Charms. On his knees, the Gryffindor Seeker coughed, coughed again, and something gold fell from his mouth into his hands.

"I've got the Snitch!" Neville Longbottom shouted, waving it above his head like a trophy. "I've got the Snitch!"

All the Gryffindors in the stands rose like one person and began to shout, cheer, applaud and threw red sparks with their wands, creating a monstrous cacophony able to wake up every person in a circle of several miles.

"Neville Longbottom has caught the Snitch!" Screamed Lee Jordan, who had apparently been as stunned as everyone by the turn taken by the match."One hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Looking at the score panel, Alexandra saw: GRYFFINDOR: 170. SLYTHERIN: 70.

Alexandra groaned and almost took her head into her hands, before remembering she was in a Gryffindor stand and thinking it would not be a good way to antagonise the Lions. Still, the astounding capture of the Snitch had pulled off was unlikely to teach him humility and safety. Next to her, Hermione and Nigel looked happy but without looking truly delirious: both of them, for not the same reasons, did not really put their life and sanity in the balance of this Quidditch match. Unlike Ron Weasley, who on the opposite side of the stand, was showing tears of joy and jumping in place with a large banner of Gryffindor shouting "WE WON! WE WON!"

The rest of his year-mates looked like they had also lost a few brain cells in this event. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were singing a drinking hymn with a red and gold lion mascot in their arms. Lavender Brown was crying in one of the Gryffindor banners. The rest of the Lions were even more demonstrative.

"Well, that was an interesting match" The Potter Heiress said to Hermione with an ironic smirk." Who do you think was trying to kill Longbottom? Snape or Quirell?"

"Difficult to say." Replied the bushy-haired girl. "Normally, I would have said Snape, he appears really dangerous, not like Quirell, but..." Hermione touched her lips, lost in contemplation , while they left the stadium before the herd of triumphant Gryffindors was getting out. Alexandra had no intention to be caught in a tsunami of red and gold. A sea of red and gold having horrible taste in music, if the screams mounting from the stands were any indication.

"My fa-father says Snape know a lot about Dark Arts." Intervened shyly Nigel."He was accu-accused to be a Death Eater in the la-last war."

"For all we know about him," Said grimly Alexandra "Quirell might be more powerful than him. We all believed him to be a coward and a disaster as a teacher. But what if it was all an act?"

Silence fell between the two girls and the boy, all thinking about what had just happened.

"It would be an astounding performance." Said weakly Hermione. "Worthy of a Slytherin. Perhaps more. If he was really able to deceive everyone..."

"Not everyone." Alexandra smiled."After all, whether Professor Snape or Quirell wanted Longbottom dead, it's clear the other wanted to protect him. So at least one Professor wasn't fooled by Quirell act. Assuming he's the culprit, of course."

As the match had lasted less than an hour, Alexandra, Nigel and Hermione arrived at the right time for lunch. Unfortunately, having calm and silence for this meal was the next best thing to impossible, as more than a hundred-plus Gryffindors surged in the castle, shouting songs where the Slytherins and every variant of snake was routinely insulted at least a dozen of times, proclaiming the Lions were the best and the Quidditch Cup belonged to them and so on.

"Is it like this for every match?" Alexandra asked a sixth-year Prefect who was passing near where she was sitting in a semi-exasperated tone.

"Afraid so." Replied the older student, relishing in her discomfiture. "There's only six matches in the year, so at each of them, the winners throw a big feast and celebrations in their Common Room all the week-end."

" Why do they party so hard?" Asked Hermione."It's just a game!"

The face of the prefect grew pale as a moment, as if Hermione had suddenly sprouted magic didn't exist or murdered a puppy under his very eyes. Seeing the first-year Gryffindor was serious, the teenager boy explained.

" This game is the most popular sport in every country save North America. Quidditch is one of the only moment of the year the students can forget a bit their studies and celebrate without risking the wrath of their Head of House and the rest of the staff. It also gives a lot of points for the House Cup. Moreover, students who excel at Quidditch can be recruited in League teams if they perform exceptionally well in a match. Some victories at Hogwarts can launch a professional career on the national stage."

" And defeats can crush a career before it had begun, I suppose?" asked Alexandra.

"Exactly." Nodded the Prefect. "Was there anything you wanted to ask?"

"How much does a professional player earns in a year?"

"For the standard player, around four thousand galleons. Star players can have a salary twice or three times that, victory primes included. Rubbish teams like the Chudley Cannons have players earning two or two thousand and five hundred galleons per year."

"As you see," the boy said, smirking before her gob-smacked expression."Quidditch is a sport where the participants live their life very well." And he left the Hall, leaving Alexandra to her dreams of gold.

"Please tell me you aren't considering playing Quidditch!" Whispered Hermione, who had seen the expression on her face.

Alexandra opened her mouth to answer, but was brutally interrupted when the double doors opened again, and the Slytherin Quidditch Team arrived in the Great Hall, followed by the rest of Slytherin House, who all looked like if someone had told them the end of the world was today, advancing in a silence of death.

The contrast was stunning with the breakfast, when she had seen all the House present smirking and presenting haughty faces, with the players openly displaying bravado and arrogance. Now, most of them were displaying livid, haunted faces. Terence Higgs was looking like he was about to burst in tears. Bole and Derrick had uncomprehending expressions. The captain of the Quidditch Slytherin team, Marcus Flint himself, was whispering to himself in a state of shock "He didn't catch it, he swallowed it."

Draco Malfoy looked like someone who had just been told the pure-blood superiority was a myth. His year-mates were varying in their reaction from red of anger to mentally defeated. All in all, the only Snakes not looking annihilated by the reverse were Crabbe and Goyle, who had already begun to masticate the content of their plates with their usual gluttonous appetite. But these two gorillas had not two cells to create an idea in their skulls and they were definitely the exception.

Looking back at the Gryffindor table, Alexandra saw Neville Longbottom being carried in the direction of his Common Room by several fifth-years. Black, Weasley and the other first-years looking at the Boy-Who-Lived with plenty of veneration in their eyes.

"We only lack the laurels and the chariot..." Alexandra told Nigel and Hermione. If Nigel, being a pure-blood, didn't seem to have the non-magical knowledge to understand her remark, Alexandra saw Hermione's eyes widen and saw the girl was observing the Gryffindors from a new angle. Because indeed, when you thought about it, the resemblance was here. In their crimson-red wizard robes, the Gryffindor players led by Wood and Longbottom had clothes which could pass for a light purple in the late autumn's light. And purple had been the colour reserved for victorious generals on days of triumph in the Republic of Rome's era, or later for the Imperial Family when Rome became an Empire.

"Ave Imperator!" Alexandra whispered, raising her goblet.

"Morituri te salutant." Finished Hermione in a murmur.

And let's pray Longbottom will keep some humility and modesty inside him after this day, Alexandra thought. But with no slave or member of the defeated party in proximity to remind him of his mortality, the odds were good the Boy-Who-Lived would have a bigger head tomorrow.

At least now the black-haired Ravenclaw had reduced the list of the potential culprits for the troll incident to two. It was a progress. Of sorts.


	12. The Walls have ears

**Author Note** : A special thanks to Kitari Isengar who has graciously proposed his services to beta this story. Previous chapters will also be corrected and re-updated in the next weeks.

 **Chapter 12**

 **The Walls have ears**

 **20th December 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Winter in Hogwarts was a nightmare by all accounts. At least that was Alexandra's honest opinion. By the beginning of December there was enough snow around and on Hogwarts to make any walk outside a very difficult proposition, if not an impossible one. And the temperatures were downright hellishly cold. The corridors were icier and icier as the season advanced, the wind was rattling and howling against the windows of the castles. Flying lessons had been cancelled until the return of spring. Thankfully, places like the Great Hall, the Library and the Common Rooms were warm and comfortable, but magic was showing its limits in the cold season. A Scottish winter was really bad in the dungeons, and classes like Potions where you had to touch your cauldron to find a moment of warmth had become hated by all the first-years. Even the avian carrying the courier were affected by the climate: her white owl Atalanta had taken refuge in Alexandra's bedroom, forcing the Potter Heiress to install a perch for her companion. The few birds courageous enough to brave the cold weather reigning at Hogwarts had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid after having delivered their letters and packages.

It was now the last day before the winter holidays, and most of the students waited impatiently for the occasion to return at home. Alexandra had just finished the morning with the Defence Against the Dark Arts class and was now looking for Hermione and Nigel. Quirell's stuttering had risen to extraordinary frequency this morning with his teeth clacking, and the raven-haired Ravenclaw was happy to have something change her thoughts.

Alexandra was passing the painting of a green archer scoring perfect hits on wooden posts when she heard the snobbish voice of Draco Malfoy behind her.

"I do feel so sorry," said the blonde pure-blood in a tone where no commiseration was present, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

Alexandra turned and sent a dark glare to the Slytherin. Surprisingly, it went ignored. Sure enough Draco Malfoy was behind her, but she had not been the intended recipient of this new provocation. The Malfoy Heir was looking over at Ron Weasley, Leo Black, and Neville Longbottom, sporting his now infamous smirk. The one making the light blonde-haired Slytherin to look annoying, pompous and mentally retarded at the same time.

Judging by the frayed temper of the three Lions and the small holes on their dark robes, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin had come out minutes ago from a Potions Lesson with Professor Snape. Crabbe and Goyle, siding along Malfoy as usual, grunted in a sound that could have passed for a chuckle. This was going to get ugly.

Alexandra turned back, deciding the best to do in this situation was to ignore the Malfoy Heir. The green-eyed Ravenclaw had thought the blond boy was unpleasant in his words and his acts before the Quidditch match, but the Heir of the Malfoy Family had reached new levels of insufferable and unpleasantness after the defeat of the Slytherin Quidditch team. While it was not exactly common knowledge, Alexandra knew Draco Malfoy had bet and lost forty Galleons on his House's victory. Even if it was only pocket money for a family as wealthy as the Malfoys, it had to hurt Draco and his ego in the short term.

In consequence, Draco Malfoy had passed the rest of November and December provoking and insulting the Gryffindors, especially the ones Hogwarts students had unofficially labelled the Golden Trio: Neville Longbottom, Leo Black and Ronald Weasley. As these three Lions were prompt in drawing their wands first and thinking later, both Slytherin and Gryffindor had lost a lot of points for the House Cup, being locked in their respective fourth and third place by a wide margin.

Too bad Malfoy was too much of an idiot to stop this circus of idiocy and arrogance, Alexandra thought. Neville Longbottom, by playing a critical role in Gryffindor Quidditch victory had all but ensured the admiration and the loyalty of the first-year Gryffindors. Well, except Hermione Granger, who he constantly nicknamed "the bookworm" or "beaver", and Nigel, called "the disaster" or "coward".

The Malfoy Heir, by comparison, had done nothing to quell the whispers of rebellion and discontent in his own ranks. To be honest, Alexandra felt it was long-time overdue. From the moment Draco Malfoy had stepped a foot inside Hogwarts, the young blonde-haired pure-blood had relied on the wealth and the reputation of his family to gain influence inside Slytherin House. It worked more or less with his fellow first-years, but the older students scorned him behind his back, not wanting to make an enemy of Draco's father, but not wanting to openly support such an arrogant specimen.

After the Quidditch match, even this hold over the boys and girls was slowly destroying itself. By now, Theodore Nott was openly challenging Draco, and the black-haired boy had rallied the Carrow twins and Byron Vaisey to his side. With Tracey Davis passing more and more time in company of Daphne Greengrass, and Zabini staying alone, that left Draco Malfoy with Crabble, Goyle, Bulstrode and Parkinson. A relative majority, but not an absolute one. The sad part was that Draco hadn't appeared to have even noticed this challenge.

Arriving in the main corridor before the Great Hall, Alexandra jumped aside, avoiding from being struck by a massive fir tree advancing from a corridor to the right. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told her that the Keeper of Keys and Grounds Hagrid was behind it. She stopped her walk, letting Hagrid push the tree in her section of the corridor.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ronald Weasley asked behind her, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" Came Malfoy half-aristocrat half-moron's drawl from behind them. Alexandra sighed. Here we go again, she thought.

"Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's lives into."

The face of Ron Weasley changed in a figure of hate, and the red-haired Gryffindor charged at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs. Bad timing.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes, just as he was about to beat him to a pulp. Pity.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. The Potions Master voice was so happy compared to his normal voice it easily revealed its previous sentence was a lie. The Slytherin Head would have been happy to remove points to the Lions for anything. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking in a manner the three Slytherin believed they had won some kind of competition. Alexandra wondered what Snape thought by giving free reign for Malfoy to antagonise the rest of the school. According to Hermione and Nigel, half the accidents at the very minimum in Potions class were due to Malfoy throwing volatile ingredients in other cauldrons and Snape refusing to intervene. But that wasn't all. Draco Malfoy also delighted in insulting the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, calling them "bookish buffoons" and "puff rejects." At the rate things were going, someone was going to murder the blonde bully long before he was an adult. Personally, Alexandra was more and more tempted to throw Malfoy from the top of the Gryffindor tower, and blame Weasley or Black for the murder.

"I'll get him," whispered Ronal Weasley in a loathing tone, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back with hate in his eyes, "one of these days, I'll get him –"

"We will have them all," said Black, a malicious expression on his visage, "Malfoy, Snape, and the rest of Slytherin."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid to the Golden Trio, unaware of the last sentences pronounced by the Gryffindors. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall. Looks a treat."

Neville, Leo and Ron followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, and Alexandra discreetly followed them. In the great Hall, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?"

Alexandra had to recognise, the Hall looked like a marvel of Christmas. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles. Christmas decorations were everywhere on the four House tables. It was a very festive atmosphere.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked to the three first-years in the distance.

"Just one," said Neville. "And that reminds me – Leo, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

Alexandra frowned. In the last month, the Golden Trio's time in the library had exponentially grown. At first she like the rest of Ravenclaw House had supposed Longbottom, Black and Weasley had finally recognised being at Hogwarts required a work ethic, but her hypotheses had been for naught: the Trio was still displaying the same attitude of "doing homework in time and hour is for the bookworms" in front of the teachers. Their grades were still average too. Seeing them walk randomly in the library, Alexandra had deduced they were searching something. The only question was what.

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron. Now that was definitely suspicious for Alexandra. Ron Weasley had established himself in four months a reputation of laziness and gluttony few dared to contest. For him to be motivated to visit the library, something was definitely going on.

"The library?" She heard the giant man grumbling , walking with them out of the Hall and unknowingly echoing her thoughts. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Longbottom told him in a smirking tone. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looking shocked. "Listen here – I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all." Said the Black Heir, in his best "I'm innocent" tone. Few Professors were fooled by it these days, and Hagrid was no exception watching his large visage covered by a hirsute beard.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Longbottom added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly, in a cold tone that was not his usual one.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and the Golden Trio left the disgruntled Keeper of the Keys and hurried off to the library.

"Asking someone also could have worked idiot." Whispered Alexandra, walking through to the Hall to sit at the Ravenclaw table.

Passing her time in the library to escape Dudley and his gang during primary school, Alexandra had always liked reading about myths and legends. Maybe because it was a way to escape the reality where she was hunted and bullied by her cousin, her aunt and her uncle. But also because she loved genuine fantasy and imaginary worlds where magic and sword coexisted. She had loved reading the Lords of Rings, which in her humble opinion, was the best book of all times. She had not spent all her time reading Tolkien, however, and she had also read numerous books on mythologies and legends of the past. And Nicolas Flamel had been prominently mentioned in all the books mentioning the alchemy myths for the creation of the legendary Philosopher Stone.

Of course, Alexandra ignored if it was the same Flamel the Boy-Who-Lived had spoken about. The man had lived in the fourteenth century, after all, and for all she knew, this Flamel could be a great-great-great-grandchild of the famous alchemist or have no familial relationship whatsoever. Or it could be the same man, if the legend was true and the wizard had managed to create a Philosopher Stone.

Soon, Hermione and Nigel arrived. Seeing her smiling, Hermione asked:

"What's so funny?"

"Weasley and Malfoy tried to kill each other in front of me, but Snape intervened." Alexandra explained.

"Ugly bat" grumbled Nigel.

Seeing Hermione and Nigel 's disabused looks, it was not hard to guess what had happened.

"Snape was as charming as usual?"

"Thanks to Malfoy, Nigel has to buy a new cauldron."

Hermione didn't add "again" but Alexandra heard it nonetheless, grimacing. When she had begun studying and meeting Nigel and Hermione every time she could, Nigel had been frankly a disaster with a wand, his lack of self-confidence creating insurmountable problems for him to follow the normal magical course. Hermione and Alexandra had had to motivate him pretty hard to see him succeed the simplest charms and jinxes. Nigel's progress was slow, but the auburn-haired pure-blood was erasing the gap in academics separating him from the other Lions, and by Alexandra estimates would be at an average level by the end of the year. Except in Potions. The dreadful behaviour of Professor Snape there, combined with his known habit to never punish the Slytherins was pure hell for poor Nigel. Even Hermione was snappy and depressed when she left the dungeons, her good humour taking the rest of the day to make a reappearance. From a purely teaching view, there were many questions why the Headmaster tolerated the presence of such a man inside the walls of the castle.

"Don't look so glum, one more class and school is finished for the year!" Alexandra said in an enthusiastic tone.

Hermione refused to take the bait, through.

"Are you going to be alright? I know you stay at Hogwarts this Christmas..."

"Hermione, I would be a lot less 'alright' if had to return to my uncle and aunt's home." Alexandra grimaced inwardly. The Dursleys were not the kind of subject she loved bringing into a conversation.

"Believe me: the less my 'family' and I see each other, the better for everyone."

Changing once again the subject, she started to eat the meals which had started to appear for lunch. Alexandra had said the truth to Hermione after all: while Hogwarts was not her preferred place to live, she would take it every day if the alternative was the Dursleys home.

Her two friends had had better childhoods than her, however, which explained why they felt quite enthusiastic at the idea of going back home. From what she had learnt, Hermione's parents were dentists. Quite wealthy, they had not had a lot of time to give to their only daughter, but had encouraged her passion with the books and her will to be the best in the academic field. Nigel had lost his mother at a young age, and with his father a diplomat working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation always away, he had been raised by his grandfather. In Alexandra's mind, there was no real doubt who had been responsible for Nigel's low esteem of himself. Veteran of the Grindelwald war, the Wolpert patriarch looked like a nasty piece of work. He seemed the kind of man that drill sergeants in the army shook in their boots at the idea of provoking.

Anyway, Nigel's father was coming back home for the holidays, so the shy Gryffindor was going home too. Hermione was going in France to practise winter sports. Assuming her parents managed to put her on skis of course.

"So, " asked Hermione in her inquisitive voice." What are you going to do alone in this castle for two weeks?"

"Is it not evident, my dear Granger? I am going to prepare my plans for world domination. I have a Dark Lady reputation to uphold, you know."

Nigel began to cough at that, having swallowed the wrong way. Hermione looked at Alexandra with a semi-amused, semi exasperated face, like if she wasn't sure she was kidding or not. The five Ravenclaw who had been in hearing distance almost ran out from the table in panic. Cowards.

On the other hand, if there was the slightest opportunity of a Philosopher's stone being in the castle, unlimited gold and eternal life sounded like the kind of prize world domination pales against...

 **25th December 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Once the holidays had started, Alexandra found herself having too much to do in the short term to explore the mysterious wing of the third floor. Not only she had her private lesson on Friday evening with Flitwick, but the professors had also given a lot of written homework for January. Alexandra had also to order present for Hermione and Nigel: she chose for Hermione a book on magical customs while she gave a box of magical and non-magical sweets for Nigel and a bottle of wine for Professor Flitwick. Atalanta had appreciated having some work to do despite the cold falling on Northern Scotland.

One thing Alexandra remarked from the start of the holidays was how few persons stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays. Including herself in the student numbers, there were exactly three Ravenclaws in the tower who didn't leave with the Hogwarts Express, none of them in her year. In the other Houses, four Hufflepuffs, one lone Slytherin and five Gryffindors were staying, four of the latter belonging to the Weasley family. Half of the staff was also gone and would not come back until the New Year, including all the Junior Professors, the assistants of the Senior Professors and Professor Quirell.

As a consequence, she had the Ravenclaw armchairs in the common room all for herself. Rectification: she had the Common Room for her personal use, the two other students preparing their final exams at the end of the year were constantly in the library. The dozens of hostile looks Alexandra had been subjected when she ate at the Ravenclaw table for the meals were now gone. Hogwarts was now largely peaceful. Almost.

Alexandra meetings with her Head of House continued every two days in that period, although in this period they did more than duelling to pass the time. Alexandra wanted to know more about the customs and the history of the wizarding world, Binns and self-study could only carry you so far after all, and Flitwick agreed, under the reservation they played wizarding chess to pass the time.

The game was exactly like the non-magical chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Alexandra passed a lot of time shouting at her chessmen which endlessly contested her decisions, at the great amusement of Flitwick.

"No, he will kill me with his queen. Send this pawn instead."

"Your knight is in danger! Sacrifice the tower!"

"If you ask me my opinion, three pawns is a good trade for taking his rook. Do it!"

"You will be in checkmate if you lose me! No! No! Not here!"

After half an hour of going nowhere, she had decided to stop taking their advices into account. Ignoring them seemed a more sensible choice. So far, her defeats had been as total as her defeats in Duelling, which had made her ask the question if Flitwick was also a Chess master along with his other titles. The tiny teacher had just laughed when she questioned him.

On Christmas Eve, Alexandra went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but was unsure if she would get any presents at all. Like her birthdays and the rest of the time she spent in their house, the Dursleys had taken to spend the strict minimum on her on the bank holidays. In other words nothing, and that included Christmas. All the while Dudley received between thirty and fifty presents for himself.

When she woke early the next morning, however, the first thing he saw was some packages at the foot of her bed.

The first, very small parcel, contained a note.

 _We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._

Stuck to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said sarcastically Alexandra, speaking to herself ."Is that the value of your love?"

More interesting were the other presents. Hermione had sent her a large box of sweets, including Chocolate Frogs and some non-magical chocolates she was fond of. Nigel had sent her the book _The Defences of Duelling Volume 1_ , a spell book combining on defensive magic uses for beginners and their applications in wizard duels.

The last present was from Professor Flitwick, a brand-new chess set. One more proof, Alexandra realised, that her Head of House had a sadistic sense of humour, and intended to administer her quite a few more defeats until school restarted.

The rest of the day was wonderful Alexandra having never imagined being invited to such a feast. Roasted turkeys, roasted meats, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and other delicacies she had never seen before but that were now in front of her, begging to be eaten.

They were also wizards crackers, which went off like cannons detonations and fascinated to the highest degree Alexandra. Rapidly, she and the Weasley twins got into a duel to fire the greatest number of them. On the first, she obtained an admiral's hat, then several glowing balloons, more sweets and two or three tricksters kits.

At the Head Table, Headmaster Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at the series of jokes Professor Flitwick was reading.

Flaming Christmas puddings and dozens of desserts followed the turkey. The elder Weasley wearing a prefect insignia nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Alexandra watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Alexandra's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lop-sided.

When she finally left the table, she had fired all the crackers of Ravenclaw table and had the impression of having eaten her own weight. She had the feeling the next duelling session wouldn't be funny at all. The white mice that had appeared with the crackers had disappeared and Alexandra had the feeling they were going to end up as Mrs Norris' Christmas dinner.

The rest of the afternoon, Alexandra passed it having a furious snowball fight in the grounds, leading the Hufflepuffs against the Weasleys. Then, cold, wet and tired, she returned to the Ravenclaw common room, where she received a monumental defeat at the hands of the seventh-year student present there.

After a tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, Alexandra felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy Weasley chase Fred and George Weasley all over Hogwarts because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Alexandra's best Christmas day ever.

 **December 31st 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Once Christmas was over, silence and calm returned to Hogwarts. In the six days which followed, the snow fell three times, making Alexandra wonder what sort of enchantments the Hogwarts Express must have to brave the snow and the ice which accumulated on the railroad.

Alexandra quickly became bored: she had finished her homework, and bombarding the Weasleys twins with snowballs could only last so long. Duelling and playing chess was fun, but Professor Flitwick had many obligations as Senior Teacher of Charms and Head of Ravenclaw House; he couldn't pass all his time with a first-year, or for that matter any student in particular.

It was on December 28 that a stunning opportunity presented itself to Alexandra, as the Headmaster left the school to go to a New Year Congress in Egypt. With Dumbledore present in the castle, she had been extremely wary of going anywhere near the forbidden corridor of the third floor. Without him, the risk became manageable: with less than two dozen students in the castle, most of the professors didn't bother make their rounds, the only exception being Snape and Flitwick.

In good Ravenclaw fashion, Alexandra had decided the chance was unlikely to present itself again and as a result put precautions in place to ensure she would not fail. The first was to consult the old plans of Hogwarts in the library, which revealed that the forbidden wing consisted of seven rooms on two levels. Alexandra had no idea why the Headmaster had been so stupid to let the plans in a library everyone in the castle could access to, but she was grateful for any help she could get. It was unlikely Dumbledore had left the stairs intact in this wing, so a broom was definitely needed. She would have to "borrow" one from the broom lockets in the Quidditch Pitch.

Alexandra had also studied the patrols of Snape and Filch, which were surprisingly predictable. By her analysis, she would have eight and a half hours before someone, undoubtedly Flitwick, remarked her disappearance and alerted the other professors. This would be the time she was granted to pass through the obstacles defending the Philosopher's Stone. She had verified in the book _A History of Alchemy_ (noting by the way that this was a heavily censored version of a French-traduced book), and there were only two wizards named Flamel today, the six hundred plus year old alchemist and his wife Perenelle. The only thing belonging to the famous alchemist, who according to the book was an old partner of Dumbledore, was the Philosopher Stone granting immortality and gold to its wielder.

That said, Alexandra had had deranging questions after reading this book. First, the elixir of Long Life had to be given every month or so for its wielder to not age. As the Stone was no doubt at Hogwarts since at least September, there were two options; either Nicolas Flamel had made another Stone, a far from impossible feat given his long life and his talent in alchemy (the man had invented the discipline after all!). Or the man was already dead. A Philosopher's Stone was an incredible and rare creation, even for wizards and witches. Alexandra did not think she would give even to her best friend's care an artefact of such incredible power, not if it could lead to her doom. Besides, Flamel was so old the lack of the Elixir of Long life would instantly kill him. The Potter Heiress had avoided thinking about this, because the implications were frightening. In her opinion, Headmaster Dumbledore was a senile old man who never should have been given the care of one child, never mind an entire school. But if the man had really murdered or get rid of one of his friends to place the Stone at Hogwarts, well...

In the end, the main flaw in her plan to rob the Headmaster was her ignorance of the nature of the traps waiting for her in the forbidden corridor. Alexandra had managed to discover Professors Snape, Quirell, Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall had participated in the defences, but given how many enchantments were possible with magic, that didn't narrow the field of possibilities at all. Hagrid had by his own admission with Longbottom furnished a "dog". The Headmaster had certainly also established his own protections.

Ultimately on December 31 evening, she decided to go. Inspired by one of the many action films Dudley had seen, Alexandra decided it to call the attempt Operation Grand Chelem, a name she found appropriate for her objective. There was absolutely zero chance for the professors to give her the information she needed, the knowledge of their defences would not be found in the library, and she had no idea how much time the Headmaster would stay away from Hogwarts after New Year before coming back.

Casting spells to make her the next best thing to silent in the corridors, Alexandra left the Ravenclaw common room at eleven o'clock, a broom taken from the Quidditch Pitch under her right arm and a pack of steaks from lunch in a bag.

With Snape and Filch busy patrolling at this hour near the Gryffindor common room, this part of the castle was deserted in the winter holidays , and she managed to arrive in front the forbidden corridor without incident. She tried to open the door but, predictably, it was locked.

"Well, let's try this!" Alexandra whispered."Alohomara!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Alexandra stayed a few seconds before the door with her mouth open. That was it? She had supposed a corridor where a painless death was waiting would be heavily defended magically, but her first year unlocking spell had just overwhelmed the first protection. Something was very wrong, Alexandra felt. May be it was her being paranoid, but Alexandra knew she was only a first-year. A first year trained by Flitwick and in the top five of every important class which counted. So if Alexandra could pass this door, every student beyond second-year could pass this door too.

Sighing, she wondered if she wasn't about to make a big mistake. She could lock the door again, and likely no one would know of her presence here this night. Still,...

"Behind this door, the adventure begins..." Alexandra murmured to herself. Casting a "Lumos!" to be aware of her surroundings, Alexandra Potter entered the Forbidden Corridor.

 **31 December 1991, Alexandria, Egypt**

The meetings of the International Confederation of Wizards were always places where every nation loved spending astronomical amounts of money, magic, wards, runes, precious stones and brilliant decorations. This end of the year congress did not escape the rule. The Royal Palace of Alexandria was a marvel of magical architecture, displaying enchanted images of the Nile, the desert and diverse local monuments like the pyramids. Built by French wizards at the end of the eighteenth century during Napoleon's Egyptian Campaign, then renovated and embellished by the successive Ministries of Egypt, the place had been chosen at the quasi-unanimity by the ICW senior delegates. The diplomats were particularly eager to welcome the beginning of the New Year with extremely expensive foods, drinks and in clothes the majority of the wizarding population would never be able to afford once in their life. At the moment were present the Supreme Mugwump, over one hundred and seventy senior delegates, twenty-five incumbent Ministers of Magic and a couple of hundred senior officials, not to mention all the witches and wizards having been invited for their looks or their colossal fortune.

In all this magnificence and with every influential man or woman busy to expand his influence and power base in the six hundred foot-long hall, the conversation of two witches discussing in a dark alcove of the first floor protected by four intensive secrecy wards had no chance of being heard.

"The ICW has really outdone itself this year, don't you think Knight Informer?"

"Indeed, my Queen. Though I wonder how the Egyptians are going to pay their employees tomorrow with half of their budget thrown in this little party."

A snort came from the first woman.

"Be brief. I can't be away for too long."

"I think the Knight Alchemist is trying to betray us to the Supreme Mugwump."

"Is he mad?"

"I wondered the same thing, my Queen."

The two witches let the time of a song pass in the Palace before opening their mouth again.

"I have to warn the King."

"He's not going to be pleased. The Philosopher Stones of Knight Alchemist have been very useful for the funding of our cover operations. We may have to advance the schedule of Knight Summoner."

"I know. But no plan survives contact with treachery and the enemy."

"And Dumbledore?"

"Ignore him. Unless you think you can take him with the Elder Wand?"

This time it was the second witch who snorted.

"I thought so. Don't worry, his time will come."

One click of the hand, and the alcove stood vacant.


	13. Race against Time

**Chapter 13**

 **Race against Time**

 **31st January 1991 11:00 p.m., Hogwarts, Scotland**

Alexandra entered the room-and immediately stopped. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked in a nightmare.

Alexandra believed that when Hagrid had spoken about a dog, he'd spoken about the magical equivalent of a Rottweiler or a Pit-bull, a bloodthirsty dog which would be easy to calm with a few steaks. In hindsight, the idea had been incredibly stupid. Everyone knew the Keeper of Hogwarts Keys loved dangerous beasts, and the bigger the better.

Which was why Alexandra now faced a gigantic three-headed dog, with massive yellowish fangs and claws, the three heads drooling and jaws full of saliva.

"What the fuck is a Cerberus doing here, by Hades?" Asked Alexandra rhetorically. "I'm going to kill Hagrid when I get out of here, if it's the last thing I do."

As there was no point to differ, she threw the steaks to the growling three headed dog, which looked ready to attack her at any moment.

The problem was the steaks only fed the animal for less than half a minute, with only two heads eating, with one always keeping watch on Alexandra. Damn.

Alexandra tried to think what she had read about Cerberus in the library, but it was unsurprisingly little. Cerberus were excellent guardians of treasures, due to their immunity to any form of aggressive magic. There were also class XXXXX magical creatures, which meant if you didn't have a Ministry authorisation to own one (which cost in the thousands of Galleons by the way), the sentence was a few years in Azkaban Prison. What the hell was Dumbledore thinking, placing one in the middle of a school, separated only by a simple spell from curious children?

As she thought about the different manners to get rid of the huge dog, the monster had finished eating and was now growling threateningly in her direction. Alexandra began to retreat in direction of the door, which luckily hadn't been closed. She had thought the obstacles to the Philosopher Stone would be moderately dangerous, but that was simply insane. She wasn't ready to go toe to toe with a Cerberus and have her corpse being thrown out of Hogwarts at the sound of the school trumpets and...

One minute. If it was a Cerberus like in the Greek Mythology, then the beast like the guardian of Hades realm had the weakness of music. Orpheus had managed to make it sleep with his lyre, allowing him to save his wife. Alexandra, unfortunately, had no music instrument, magical or non-magical device. She would have to sing. Not exactly a domain the raven-haired Ravenclaw would have described as one her strength.

Sighing, realising she had nothing to lose; she began to sing a song she had learned in the Lord of the Rings:

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O light to us that wander here  
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!  
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
In a far land beyond the sea.

O Stars that in the Sunless Year

With shining hand by her were sown,  
In windy fields now bright and clear  
We see you silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

Her worries had been for naught apparently. By the time she arrived to the middle of the song, the growls of the Cerberus were low and weak. By the time she finished the song a first time, the Cerberus was sound asleep.

She had to sing a second time, advancing to the trapdoor guarded by the Cerberus, and then a third, the time to open it and mount on her broom. Apparently, her decision to go and take a broom from the lockers usually reserved for Flying Lessons and Quidditch players had been judicious. There were no stairs, no light, without a broom she would have had to jump and hope for the best.

Once she stopped the song and flew down the trapdoor, the three-headed monster growled and started to merge from his musical torpor, liberated from the song influence. Too late, however: Alexandra was out of its reach, and had triumphed from the first obstacle.

Casting a powerful Lumos again on her broom, Alexandra congratulated herself once more for having come with a flying magical means of travel. The room she had just flown too was huge, or at least she supposed it was, because most of it was covered by a plant. Judging by the tendrils and the agitation it was showing at the light emitted by her wand, being a genius was not needed to conclude this was the second obstacle placed by the Professors, the Herbology one to be accurate.

Thanks to her broom, she was out of the reach of the tendrils and tentacles from the plant, but that didn't mean she was free to advance to the next room. The door leading further along away was covered by a green mass of tendrils, so Alexandra would be forced to land at one moment or another if she wanted to go further. The dangerous plant was not going to accept this without a fight.

Groaning, Alexandra thought she should have come with Hermione. The Gryffindor girl was the best in their year, and a memory far better than her own. She would have recognized the plant in twenty seconds watch in hand. Or perhaps not. If it was a plant seen in the Herbology courses after the OWLS, even Hermione wouldn't be able to help.

Slowly circling the room, Alexandra tried to remember the theory of Professor Sprout they had had in four months. It was a long-shot, but the first obstacle could be passed in theory rather simply with music. Maybe the second room answered to the same logic.

After five minutes flying over this nightmare of gardeners, she found the name in her memory. Devil's Snare. A plant invented by a mad German wizard to eat the dirt and the excrements in 1450, before the insane researcher realised his plant had developed and implanted itself in all his caves and miles of underground. The German forces had needed three months to burn this threat, and the inventor had not survived to learn from his mistake. The plant was liking dark and damp places, and could feed from practically everything. Probably why it was just under the location of the Cerberus, logically.

 _Oh well_ , thought Alexandra. _Time to verify the theory_.

"Ignis!" She shouted, creating a column of light blue flames on the Devil's Snare. In an instant, the aggressive plant ceased to be a threat and cringed away from the heat and the flames she sent in controlled bursts.

She took a moment to thank Hermione mentally, as it had been her Gryffindor friend who had taught her the spell. On the other hand, the episode with the Devil's Snare had been again too easy. Easy enough for an advanced first -year to have no problem to pass. Her suspicions worsened, she opened the door and continued on.

Going down the stone passageway which had been on the library maps, the only things she could hear were her footsteps and the noise of water trickling down the walls. Alexandra really hoped the next obstacle wasn't a swimming pool or something where water was included. While she knew how to swim, her experiences with this sport had always turned badly thanks to Dudley and his gang trying to drown her.

After one minute, she reached at a fast pace the end of the passageway to enter a brilliantly lit chamber, full of small, jewel-bright keys. On the opposite side of the door was the heavy wooden door. Crossing the chamber, Alexandra had no difficulty to guess who had created this obstacle: obviously, it had been her Head of House.

Still, Alexandra hadn't duelled Flitwick once per week and not noticed the fact at heart the tiny professor of Charms could be a sadist when he found something very exciting. Like sending Alexandra all over the room once she found a new tactic or spell to use against him. Leaving three brooms with the key, Alexandra concluded, was out of character for him. So was choosing a key for the door that was large, sliver and giving a blue aura.

That did not mean catching the key was easy at all. The bewitched objects were incredibly rapid, dived, turned and darted so quickly it was nearly impossible to follow. Grumbling she should have "borrowed" a faster broom in the Quidditch lockers and not an obsolete Cleansweep 5, Alexandra took a quarter of an hour to catch the key, open the door and close it fast as the other keys engaged a massive retaliatory attack. Yes, definitely Flitwick 's work. The keys had had all the sadism of the Ravenclaw Head of House.

Breathing high and loud for the exercise she had just been forced to do, Alexandra turned and watched the room where she had arrived. It was dark, but she had only done two steps that a bright light flooded the room. Letting her eyes acclimating themselves to the light after more than an hour of partial darkness, Alexandra watched the next obstacle.

The Potter Heiress had to admit it was impressive. It was a gigantic chessboard, with chessmen twice or three times her height. Alexandra was on the side of the black chessmen. The white chessmen faced her, but unlike the black they looked unfriendly, a side effect of their lack of faces.

"Chess, why did it have to be chess?" The raven-haired girl moaned.

Coming from a Ravenclaw, Alexandra supposed the commentary could be ironic, but she really didn't care. Yes, the Ravenclaw were supposed to be intelligent and wise, but she had only learnt the rules of chess at the start of the holidays. In all, Alexandra had perhaps played between thirty and forty games. Decent enough to know the rules and some basic combinations. Not an expert at all, not like Ron Weasley for example, who seemed to glorify himself each time he beat one more student.

Oh no. Weasley. Alexandra suddenly understood. The obstacles were not supposed to keep the students outside and away: they had been conceived to test students. Specifically, the first-years Gryffindor. Except Padma Patil and Zacharias Smith who were average players, no one else in first-year was playing as much than the youngest Weasley boy. The challenge of McGonagall had undoubtedly been for him.

As Longbottom was the youngest Seeker in a century, Flitwick 's trial had been created for the Boy-Who-Lived to triumph. With Seamus Finnegan passion for fire and explosion, passing Professor Sprout Devil's Snare wouldn't be too difficult. As for the Cerberus...well Alexandra had heard Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio discussing with Hagrid. She supposed it wouldn't be too difficult for the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends to convince the Keeper of Keys to reveal the truth.

Still that left Quirell and Snape obstacles, two teachers who had absolutely no love for Neville Longbottom and his sidekicks.

Sighing, Alexandra stopped to think about it. In the end, whether this obstacle course was for Longbottom or another person didn't matter. If she wanted to advance, she had to beat the white chessmen, one way or another. With the chessmen made of stone, Alexandra hadn't the magical firepower to blast them away. She would have to play by the rules and win the game regularly.

"Give me your place," she said to the black king. Nodding, the chessman left the board. Alexandra took his place.

"The white begins." Alexandra reminded herself in a whisper. Effectively, a white pawn moved forward two squares.

Trying to avoid thinking about what would happen if she lost, Alexandra began to send her chessmen to their positions.

The following hour proved the longest of Alexandra's life. One by one she lost her black pieces. It was not a consolation, but as many white pieces were destroyed. Seeing the fate of the pieces pulverised, which despite being stone were blasted apart, Alexandra thanked her intuition to place herself as the king. As the most important piece of the game, she was in the rear lines and could always run to the keys room if she lost.

Finally, after sacrificing her queen and her last bishop, Alexandra won the game. Somehow, she thought the massive overuse of the white queen by the enemy side had allowed her to claim victory. A narrow one, and she grimaced at how few black pieces were still in the game and not in the state of debris on the sidelines. One pawn. One tower. One knight. Somehow, Alexandra didn't think she would have been able to protect a second person on this hellish exchequer.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Alexandra's feet. The chessmen not reduced to piles of rubble parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear.

"All hail the Queen..."

Opening the next door, Alexandra coughed as her senses were filled by a disgusting stench. Her eyes watering under the horrible spell, she emerged in front of a room where a mountain troll even bigger than the one she had killed at Halloween.

"At least no need to wonder if it was Peeves who made enter this one." Alexandra sighed.

"RRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!"

Apparently, being in this room for the best part of several months had not improved the troll behaviour. Unfortunately, Alexandra had no wish to be on the receiving end of his massive club. Moreover, the long hour she had passed playing chess had unnerved her to the highest degree. The troll was going to pay for the obstacles creators, as she could decently not going to their teachers' offices and berate them for their lack of ethics and originality.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" She shouted. The club of the troll levitated under its owner eyes, and the troll blinked, apparently too stupid to fully understand what its eyes were describing.

"I would say I'm sorry." Alexandra smirked. "But it would be lying."

One flick of her wand, and Alexandra precipitating the club on the troll's head with the velocity of a baseball bat, knocking the beast unconscious on the floor in a shock which made the room tremble. The troll was out of commission, hopefully for several hours.

"Your brother gave a tougher fight." Alexandra affirmed, stepping over the monstrous body of the troll."Only Snape and Dumbledore trials are left."

She pulled open the next door, and for once there was nothing frightening there, only seven bottles of different shapes and sizes.

She stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; for one thing it was purple, and for the other the warmth which came from it was properly infernal. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onwards. Alexandra grimaced. Any challenge now, she had had the option to go back safely if she did not find the clue to solve the trial of the room. But now, she was well and truly trapped, her magical capabilities useless to extinguish such dangerous and cursed flames. And at the other extremity of the Forbidden Corridor, no less. Fantastic.

There was a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Alexandra looked and read the message upon it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Her reaction after reading the parchment was relief. She had feared she would have to combine a bottle with another to have a potion having the capacity to pass through the flames. Instead, she faced a riddle to find the correct potion. Easy, especially as she was a Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw always had to find the solution to riddles if they wanted to enter their common room. Especially her, who had no allies or friends inside her own House to open her the door if she did not find the solution to the question posed.

Pausing for a moment, she wondered for whom in Gryffindor this task had been designed for. Perhaps Leo Black with all his knowledge of pranks potions. Certainly not Ron Weasley, nor Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas or Lavender Brown. The first-years Gryffindors were not known for their deductive abilities or their Potions skills. The troll had certainly been put for Longbottom on the other hand; the Boy-Who-Lived had by far the largest arsenal of offensive spells among the first-years.

Alexandra took the smallest bottle in her hand, who according to the riddle was the one to pass the black flames. She was forced to grimace: she had hoped there would be enough to go in the next room and come back (there was no exit in that part of the castle, she had checked on the plans) but it didn't appear so. She had better hope there was magic in the bottle to replenish the potion, else she would be trapped in the next room until someone came to deliver her.

She drank the little bottle in one go and placed it in her pocket. It was like ice had replaced blood in her body. Not wasting any time, she raced in the black flames, only to find a simple room with a mirror in the centre.

Strange.

Considering she had managed to come through every challenge of the Senior Professors, it had to be Dumbledore's trial.

A quick look at the rest of room informed Alexandra there was nothing else in this place. Nothing else she could see, anyway.

Formidable.

Approaching the mirror slowly, Alexandra noticed it was very large, and given the pattern of the gold frame and the inscriptions, likely very old too. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

She didn't know why, but she felt something clearly wrong with this mirror. Why had it been placed there to begin with? It was the last room, she had triumphed over the other trials. Alexandra had expected to find the Philosopher Stone here, not some old magical artefact the Headmaster found "interesting". Unless the mirror had been a creation of Nicolas Flamel and the obstacles were to guard it all along?

Trying to find what was in the mirror, she stepped fully in front of it to see her reflection. However, it was not her who appeared, or rather not Alexandra's reflection as she was now. Alexandra was a bit older and taller, a bit less thin, and she smiled as she had like she was really happy. A really pretty woman and a handsome man were standing behind her.

The woman had brilliant red hair and her flamboyant green eyes, eyes of a colour only Alexandra had at Hogwarts and Privet Drive. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then she noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy.

"Mum?" She whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at her, smiling. And slowly, Alexandra looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror who appeared one by one. A little girl. Several old men and women. Dozens of witches and wizards in eighteen or nineteen centuries robes. About half harboured distinctive black and unruly black hair. The rest had the bright green eyes of her maternal side. Her family. The family she should have had, but that the war and destiny had robbed her from. Looking once again the mirror's inscription she read it backwards and smiled.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire. But read backwards, like in a mirror. Clever."

Alexandra took a glance once again at the image of her parents in the mirror. Already, she felt compelled to touch it, to come closer to touch her family. But that was not her family wasn't it? Her family was dead and buried or in jail, and Alexandra hadn't known them. Whatever was in the mirror was only a reflection of her desires. Nothing more.

As she thought this, the reflection changed once more, depicting her with Hermione, Nigel and a few other first-years laughing and partying. By the looks of it, her friends and she were standing in the Great Hall, which looked decorated in Ravenclaw colours. A Cup of impressive size was posed next to them. Alexandra nodded negatively. Then it changed again, showing a different Alexandra surrounded by young children. And again. All images reflecting things Alexandra had wanted at one point or another of in her eleven years and a half of life. Things she had never told someone else. Desires she didn't want someone else to know.

She closed her eyes for an instant, trying to regain her self-control. When she reopened them, the image in the mirror had changed again. Unlike the previous one, Alexandra's reflection was not present there. The mirror showed what looked like the interior of a cathedral, crowded with people. Even more interesting, judging by the clothes these people were wearing, it looked like there was wizard and non-wizards being together. Alexandra had no time to wonder at this impossibility. The crowd divided in two, and a woman in a long emerald dress advanced in direction of the altar. As she bent in front of a man looking like a priest, she realized what the scene was. It was a crowning ceremony, further confirmed by the priest posing a crown of gold with emeralds and sapphires on her head.

The woman rose and saluted the crowd, which erupted in cheers and applauds. The mirror's view then dived, giving her a prime sight of the newly-crowned woman. Long black hair. Flamboyant green eyes. A face more feminine, more beautiful than the one she watched every time she looked into a mirror. The woman was her. Or rather, an older version of herself.

"Enough of this game." she whispered. "I don't want to be a ruler, too much paperwork and too many hours of work."

Her older self in the mirror looked at her with a sense of amusement, as though she had waited for this remark. The rest caught Alexandra completely flat-footed.

One instant there was an older version of herself in the mirror; the rest there was a flock of ravens and the mirror shone like magic itself had decided to imbue it. A stream of light came to touch her right hand, provoking a terrible amount of pain in her. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was terribly unpleasant.

The light of the mirror vanished and her normal reflection came back. Definitely weird and creepy.

"Show me where the Philosopher Stone is." Alexandra ordered to the mirror, out of breath of the last ordeal. She had passed too long in this room. It was already at least two hours she had left the Ravenclaw tower, and while she had until early morning to go back, Alexandra had also to go back through the obstacles that she had already passed to get here.

The normal reflection of her smiled and flickered. A moment later, the reflection smiled at her. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Alexandra felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow – incredibly – she'd got the Stone.

"That-that was the protection? Asking for the Stone?" Asked Alexandra, taking the Stone in her hands. Her reflection seemed insulted by that, and with a finger touched its head.

"Intention." The reflection nodded, as pleased she had understood the solution of the enigma.

Alexandra turned back, put back the Stone in her pocket, and began to walk away.

Somehow, the mirror had known she had no intention to use the Philosopher Stone and had given it to her as a result. How could the mirror knew that? Taking a new drink from the potion protecting from the black flames (which had fortunately replenished in the last minutes), Alexandra left the mirror room without turning back.

Arriving in the room of Snape 's challenge, she took a minute or two to read again the riddle and drink the potion protecting from violet fire before replacing the tiny bottle she had taken. Passing the room where the troll was still lying unconscious, Alexandra tried to guess what had really been planned with the magical mirror she had seen.

That the Headmaster himself had placed the mirror there was quite obvious. She was ready to bet this type of mirror wasn't found at the first corner of Diagon Alley. Dreams, desire... the mirror was able to show everything. It was dangerous, even with her limited view of the Wizarding World. Using it to protect the Philosopher Stone was a brilliant idea, except if the person searching it wasn't interested in using it. Someone like Alexandra.

Alexandra had had the time to guess in her research for Operation Grand Chelem what she would do if she had a Philosopher Stone. Eternal Life? Living eternally sounded cool in theory, but Alexandra didn't like the idea in practise. Seeing everyone die around you, one by one, until only yourself are still alive, appeared to be a very unpleasant fate. Unlimited gold? For all intent and purposes, this was exactly what she had been granted when she came at Gringotts, compared to the sums of money she had at the Dursleys. At the age of seventeen, she would be even wealthier. Taking her broom from where she had left it in the chess room, Alexandra mounted it and flew across the obstacles of Flitwick and Sprout. The chessmen were still reconstituting themselves and did not oppose her.

Alexandra had to sing again to put the Cerberus to sleep and get out of the forbidden corridor, but the reverse crossing of the forbidden corridor was cleared in less than half an hour.

No, the real reason she had wanted the Philosopher Stone was for the thrill of it and the opportunity it represented to annoy her magical guardian, a certain Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

Locking again the door leading to the huge Cerberus, Alexandra managed to go back to the tower of the Eagles without drawing undue attention, though she was almost discovered by Peeves and the riddle to access the common room was bloody difficult at this hour.

Entering her bedroom, she put the Philosopher stone in a package and gave it to Atalanta, who had widened her owl eyes with the arrival of her mistress.

"I need you to carry the Stone to the secret stash I showed you in August." She said to her owl.

Atalanta hooted twice, pointing her beak to the window as to signify 'Have you seen the weather outside?'

"I know, I know. Three treats?"

Atalanta hooted five times.

"Fine, you win." Alexandra affirmed, inwardly sighing at the bribery that was required to deliver courier in the wizarding world.

After a short meal, the snowy white owl departed from Hogwarts, with her precious package in her claws.

Watching her leaving the castle, Alexandra smiled.

"Operation Grand Chelem is successful. I wonder how you will react to that Headmaster?"

 **2 January 1991, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"This is an interesting development, wouldn't you say, Fawkes?"

The voice of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was showing signs of what could only be described as curiosity. On top of the infamous mirror of Erised, the red and gold phoenix serving as his companion thrilled in a delighted tone.

"I only regret not being here to watch it."

A new thrill came from the fire bird. The Headmaster emitted a series of rapid twirls with his wand, making the magical artefact in front of him glow of a pale golden.

"Truly intriguing." Told in a contemplating voice the Chief Warlock. "The thief reset all the magical protections and enchantments to their initial forms. Save Gellert and Tom, I did not believe someone on this world had the capacity to do it."

A mournful son came out the beak of the Phoenix.

"No, it was not them, Fawkes. The magical signature is different and...not human. I wonder..." The voice of Albus Dumbledore trailed away, the old wizard constantly caressing his silver beard while whispering the incantations bringing the enchantments of the Mirror to their desired state.

"I suppose I will have to demand a new appointment with the Department of Mysteries." Dumbledore thought out loud after his examinations and casting were done.

"I almost feel bad for the thief, you know." Said conversationally to his phoenix the Supreme Mugwump. "Triumphing over all these trials...and obtaining a fake Philosopher Stone. The disappointment..." The right hand of the Headmaster searched in one of the numerous pockets of his bright green-golden robe for a moment, before emerging with a blood-coloured stone of minor size and placing it in the depths of the Mirror.

"I will put the listening wards at their maximum setting tomorrow, however. It would not do to alert the band of traitors in my staff of the traps I have installed for them here. The Weasley Twins had only managed to reach Minerva's challenge, but this new attempt was successful." The Chief Warlock nodded positively to himself. "Yes. Legilimency then Obliviation."

The man who had defeated Grindelwald's reflection in the Mirror of Erised was downright malicious.

"It is for the Greater Good, naturally."


	14. Return to Normalcy

**Chapter 14**

 **Return to Normalcy**

 **7 March 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Honestly, when Alexandra stole the Philosopher Stone from the clutches and obstacles of the venerable Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, she had expected the man who tried to be a grandfather version of Merlin to be at Hogwarts within a matter of minutes. Given the difficulty of the trials Alexandra had passed through (which she had done with four months of magical education), she had been forced to conclude some alarms and warnings had been sent to the Headmaster as soon as she set a foot in this forbidden corridor. It was the only thing which made sense. If her theory that the obstacles had been created to test Neville Longbottom, the Golden Trio and the rest of the first-year Gryffindors were accurate, then the Headmaster had surely put some kind of magical cameras or device to spy every student temerarious or stupid enough to enter the corridor. Perhaps, in her haste to steal the legendary Stone and pay back the old wizard, she had been too hasty. Methods to hide her presence would surely have come in handy.

Surprisingly, she had been dead wrong. When she woke up late on January 1 and went to the Great Hall wishing a "Happy New Year!" to everyone she met including the Weasley Twins. The Headmaster had not come back from the ICW event he had travelled to yet. Alexandra had been outright suspicious of this.

Surely, with a Philosopher Stone being kept at Hogwarts, Dumbledore would have a way to be warned if anybody tried to go down the Forbidden Corridor, or if something important happened at Hogwarts required his supervision.

Apparently, her idea of logic and Dumbledore's were not sharing a lot of common views, as the man throughout the year that had just ended had been more often absent than present at Hogwarts. Alexandra forced herself to remember that the alerts could be tied down in methods her magical education hadn't covered yet, and the Chief Warlock could simply bide his time before decisively moving against her. In that case, Dumbledore would arrest her as soon as he returned to the thousand-year-old fortress.

The reality was far more disappointing. As a matter of fact, the Headmaster did not come back until the afternoon of January 5, less than three hours before all the other students and professors arrived via their own methods of transportation and the Hogwarts Express. To Alexandra's relief, Dumbledore was still the same when he wished them a good year that evening.

Truth be told, she did not know on what foot she was dancing. On one hand, Alexandra was extremely relieved she had not been caught. On the other hand, she was a bit offended the protections had been so...pitiful to protect the Philosopher Stone. With Professor Flitwick having used a few simple charms on her to disarm and tie her in her last duel with him, she knew dealing with a professor in duel was out of her league. So if someone like Dumbledore had really wanted to protect the Stone, the job should have been really impressive and in a whole other league compared to her talents. Alas, all she had was suspicions and her feelings. Not exactly much to form a sound theory.

Alexandra left these morose thoughts when Hermione and Nigel entered the Hall this evening. Without them, well... them and the rest of the students, but the latter despised her, Alexandra had realised Hogwarts was not as interesting as it should be.

Yes, Flitwick was a great Professor and Head of House, but he wasn't around much. Anyway he wasn't from her generation, not by a long shot, and after everything in her eleven years of life, Alexandra had really found two persons of her age she could discuss, share her opinions, work with and help with homework or other issues. It was enough for the Potter Heiress to call Hermione and Nigel the first friends she ever had. Which had made her greatly conflicted about the Forbidden Corridor issue. Tell them or not to them? On the plus side, the black-haired girl felt ninety-nine per-cent certain Hermione wouldn't run to denounce her to Professor McGonagall, though the Gryffindor girl would certainly insist to give the Stone back to its legitimate owners. On the down sides, sharing her experiences with the two Lions would put them in danger should the Headmaster discover her rule-breaking. Hermione came from a non-magical family. Nigel had a relatively well-off father but of influence strictly limited to certain diplomatic and ambassadorial circles. Both would get expulsed without recourse should the authorities-that-be wanted to. In the end, Alexandra had decided not to reveal her epic and illegal adventure...for the moment. If something from the Forbidden Corridor became common knowledge or created an incident out of control, then the Potter Heiress would tell the truth to her two Gryffindor friends. Otherwise, she was going to wait until the Hogwarts Express brought them back to London. Albus Dumbledore may be a powerful and extremely knowledgeable wizard, but the green-eyed Ravenclaw was sure he could not listen everywhere. And most likely by then the area where currently a troll and a massive Cerberus were living would be completely empty.

After having passed a series of potentially dangerous traps on the first day of the year, the rest of January was positively boring in comparison. With the snow and the cold outside, flying was obviously impossible, leaving the first year-students to concentrate on their studies.

Potions, where the manners of Professor Snape had not improved from two weeks of festivities. Herbology, in the warm and damp greenhouses. Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall's incident with alcohol had been hidden away behind her strict and demanding attitude. Charms, where Flitwick continued to cheer his audience. Astronomy, where the cold made the manipulation of the telescopes more difficult than ever. Defence Against the Dark Arts, with a teacher stuttering and forgetting everything. And History, where the two Professors were as boring as ever.

Normalcy had returned to the school of magic. At least in theory.

To Alexandra great amusement, Neville Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio had not stopped searching in the library for any trace of Nicolas Flamel. Longbottom had even managed for Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas and a few other first-years to search with them. She was told that had nearly given heart attacks to members of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff when they saw Gryffindor students going willingly en mass to the library.

To give the Boy-Who-Lived a bit of credit, Alexandra had read numerous books on the famous French alchemist, and the man didn't appear to be so universally popular in the British magical world as he was in the non-magical one. His relationship with Albus Dumbledore aside, Flamel 's last important research in the field of alchemy had been made public in the 1880s, which even for the long-lived wizards was plenty of time to forget. There was also the problem of his nationality. Most of the books in Hogwarts library had been overwhelmingly printed in the British Isles, with some exceptions from Dutch, Danish or German authors. There was absolutely no book printed or written in French, an absence Alexandra found a bit disturbing.

Even her first school had had some foreign books, if only to learn the basics of said language. Were there problems in French-British relationships or were the taxes to import said works from Paris too expensive? Hermione didn't find anything to answer her questions with certainty and Nigel wasn't in the know of diplomatic intricacies. After a few days, Alexandra let the matter drop.

Coming back to the search of Flamel, she was starting to find the energy deployed by Longbottom a bit suspect. As time passed and January became February, Quidditch practise of the four House teams resumed. Longbottom, as Seeker for Gryffindor, was playing Quidditch four times a week. According to the grumbling and the whining coming from the table of the Lions every day, Captain Wood was a tyrant who made Flitwick's tutoring look like a tender picnic.

Most of Longbottom's remaining evenings were spent with Black and Weasley in detention for various pranks and misdemeanours. If Alexandra had been in Neville's position, she would have concentrated on her studies, not searched for a name in hundreds of long-forgotten books.

The results were already felt. From the classes of Charms Alexandra shared with Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom was still in the lead when it came to the practise of new spells, but him and his followers were lagging behind the Ravenclaws when it came to the theory. But with the next match of Quidditch, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff approaching, there was little chance the Longbottom Heir was going to climb back in the ranks. At the same time, Potions and History continued to sink the average grade of the House of the brave and the courageous noticeably.

Professor Snape was on the warpath against the Lions and had since January declared his willingness and dedication to pursue a vigilant crusade against Longbottom and anybody who dared stand at his side.

Hermione and Nigel weren't bearing the full might of this conflict, but they too were consciously feeling the strain.

"Why do they try to antagonise him so much?" Raged Hermione with tears in her eyes on a Friday evening."Each time there is a Potions class, we lose at least twenty points! They aren't the ones who will have to gain them back!"

Alexandra was forced to recognise Hermione was in the right. Not that the Lions would ever admit it. While in Ravenclaw or in Hufflepuff the behaviour of the Golden Trio would have attracted heavy displeasure from the older students and the Head of House, it was virtually ignored in Gryffindor.

Alexandra won in average fifteen points for Ravenclaw per week, and was ignored for reasons out of her personal control. By her calculations, Neville Longbottom won probably the same number. Hermione won twice or three times that. Leo Black was awarded half of Alexandra's successes in points at the best of times, and Ron Weasley 'efforts' rarely deserved any point at all.

"McGonagall does nothing and lets the leaders do what they want." Hermione snarled in another of her rants. "It's a miracle the Gryffindor tower hasn't collapsed!"

Alexandra nodded silently. McGonagall had three jobs at Hogwarts: Deputy Headmistress, Senior Professor of Transfiguration and Head of House Gryffindor. The latter had according to Hermione taken a backseat compared to the others. It was the Prefects who were charged of the discipline and maintaining a minimum of order in Gryffindor Tower. A task they seemed to fail at by virtue of not even trying.

"McGonagall should never have chosen this one to be a Prefect!" Was a theme Alexandra was becoming very familiar with in the corridors.

While the 'Golden Trio' raised high the best and the worst the Lions had in their House, united under the same banner, the exact opposite happened in House Slytherin. Draco Malfoy came back from his home looking more arrogant than ever, Crabble and Goyle at his back. Theodore Nott was also on the warpath, followed by Vaisey, Flora and Hestia Carrow.

The power struggle had been unavoidable between the arrogant pompous blonde and the sadist black-haired boy. On the last Saturday of January, Draco Malfoy reached the Great hall to have breakfast when his hair turned a neon green colour. The Slytherin Civil War, as Alexandra nicknamed it in front of an amused Nigel and a semi- exasperated Hermione, had begun.

The power-play in question was brutal and over in less than a week. It very quickly descended into anarchy, had no cunning, and no discretion or any form of deviousness. Draco Malfoy contented himself to recruit three dozens of second, third and fourth-years with the money and influence his father owned, and to launch him at Nott and his supporters. The boys and girls in question were far from united and the students over fifth year chose to remain neutral, thinking it wasn't worth it to antagonise the Malfoy patriarch. Theodore Nott went to the Hospital Wing three times that week. His fellow first-years joined him at least that often.

By the end of the first week of February, Draco Malfoy had retaken his control and authority as the de facto leader of the Slytherin first-years. As Nigel had remarked more than once, being Alexandra's specialist in the subject of pureblood politics, using so many favours had not been a good move from a political perspective. To win what was essentially a first-year quarrel, Malfoy had just thrown away more influence and debts than a minor Lord of the Wizengamot did in a couple of years. Not very intelligent from any point of view.

Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, could afford it, as the wealth and the influence he wielded were second to only Albus Dumbledore in Wizarding Britain. Still, it gave an advanced taste of what would happen should Draco continue on this path when he ascended to the Malfoy Lordship.

Then came the moment when the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match draw near in the first week of March. As there was few tensions between the Badgers and the Lions as a whole, normally there would have been no serious issues in the school for the Quidditch match. These weren't normal times.

For the first time in five years, Gryffindor had the occasion to take the lead in the Gryffindor Quidditch Cup. In the other match of November, Ravenclaw had massacred Hufflepuff 290 to 110, which put Alexandra's house in first position for the moment. If Gryffindor won this match, the Lions would pass from second place to first, putting the pressure on the Ravens and the Snakes who played against each other at the end of March.

Winning this match was critical for Gryffindor, as the Quidditch Cup was one of the only things left for them this year. Traditionally, only a minority of the supposed House reputed for its suicidal courage and their partying shone in the academic field. Thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived and the Weasley Twins, the House Cup was unreachable.

On March 6th, Gryffindor was dead last in the competition by a large margin. Ravenclaw was first with five hundred and forty two points, Hufflepuff was second with four hundred and thirty nine points, Slytherin was third with two hundred and eighty seven points, Gryffindor was fourth with one hundred and ninety two points. Barring an extraordinary performance from Hufflepuff or a miraculous recovery of the two other Houses, Ravenclaw had a very good chance to win the House Cup after six years of Slytherin domination. But in the Quidditch Cup, nothing was decided.

As a consequence, the announcement that Professor Snape was going to be the referee of the next Quidditch match was greeted with stupefaction by anyone who cared about the sport at Hogwarts.

"This man is so biased it can be seen from London!" The Weasley twins roared in the week leading to the match.

"Snivellus is searching for any excuse to knock off points from Gryffindor!" Shouted Leo Black in a corridor while Alexandra was near. The class of Potions the day before the match turned to a series of explosions and cauldron sabotage and Snape was forced to dismiss all the students a quarter of an hour early to clean the mess done by the combined actions of the first-years. By chance, Nigel and Hermione were far from the explosions. In fact, they were probably the only Gryffindors not in the Hospital Wing by lunch. Malfoy and Longbottom undoubtedly had better targets in mind.

"Someone explain to me what the headmaster was thinking." Grimaced Nigel on lunch that day at noon. "Snape refereeing the match has pushed the Slytherins and the Gryffindors to fight _again_. It's like they want us to hate each other!"

"That's not really true, Nigel." Said Hermione with a frown on her face. Seeing the boy in front of her raise the eyebrows in disbelief, she added: "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man..."

"Isn't that the problem, though, Hermione?" asked Alexandra. "The headmaster is so busy he's never at Hogwarts for most of the week! I'm not sure he has noticed how bad the situation is, I mean, we haven't seen him since last Sunday."

Nigel nodded, snatching a potato with his fork at the same time."My father told me the same thing once. With Dumbledore being the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, he shouldn't have taken any other job."

"And he has two more. But surely he has the time to cope with the three, no?" declared Hermione, her respect for figures of authority coming back at the speed of a horse galloping.

"I doubt it Hermione." Said the raven-haired Ravenclaw. "Even magic doesn't allow you to be three places at the same time that I know of."

The noise of another prank, courtesy of the Weasley twins, interrupted the conversation. Afterwards the subject drifted to Transfiguration homework.

Still, as she left the two Gryffindors to go to Herbology, Alexandra thought Nigel had made a very convincing point. Dumbledore was too old, holding too many positions to enforce the rules every time he was at Hogwarts. Probably. The alternative was the old man's goal was to ensure the Lions and the Snakes remained permanently in a state of small-scale conflict, using Snape and McGonagall's flaws to do so.

Alexandra didn't see the point. By his blatant support of Gryffindor House, Dumbledore has made sure a quarter of the school belonging in Slytherin was opposed to him no matter what. Oh, the Slytherins recognised the Headmaster as a very powerful wizard, but the line was drawn there. For the rest, the Snakes were happy to call him "meddlesome old fool" or "old Muggle-lover" when there was no adult in proximity. Alexandra didn't see the point of alienating one-fourth of your student population in all the ways which counted. And that worried her. Dumbledore would not control the most powerful political block of the British Isles if he had not brains behind his exuberant and weird persona.

The Quidditch match which followed the next day didn't calm these fears even slightly.

"Here comes the team of Gryffindor! " Shouted Lee Jordan, as unbiased as ever when his House Quidditch team was concerned."Wood, Johnson, Spinnet, Bell, Weasley and Weasley and our magnificent Seeker Longbottom! Their victory would be all but assured today, if not for the presence of a certain referee we could all do without..."

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor." The tone employed by Lee to speak didn't sound sorry or bothered at all.

In circumstances like that, where the partiality of the referee was so blatantly questioned, it would have been crucial for the referee to act as a model of neutrality, forgetting personal grudges and Houses rivalry. Alas, Snape hadn't followed the same thought process Alexandra, Nigel and Hermione had in the stands, or he simply didn't care. After thirty seconds of play, the Slytherin Head of House accorded a free shot to Hufflepuff because one of the Weasley twins had sent a Bludger vaguely in the direction of an Hufflepuff Chaser. An act absolutely authorised in any Quidditch rulebook.

"That Bludger was ten feet away from this Hufflepuff! Where did the ref learn the rules?" Erupted Lee Jordan. "In a cauldron?"

"JORDAN!"

The boos and the shouts coming from the Gryffindor stands after that were so loud they almost drowned the sound of the comments made by the commentator. Not that it mattered, as Snape twenty-five seconds later awarded Hufflepuff a second free shot for 'excessive usage of force' when no Gryffindor player had even touched an Hufflepuff one.

The six next minutes were one of the most blatant spectacles of partiality Alexandra had seen at Hogwarts, which was saying something. Every thirty seconds or so, Snape gave a penalty for Hufflepuff for no reason at all. The Gryffindors in the stands were fuming with rage. The Ravenclaws, where Hermione, Nigel and Alexandra stood, were beginning to leave the stands, disgusted by the turn of events.

The Hufflepuffs were silent. It was a cold condemnation of the Senior Potions Professor's behaviour. Only some Slytherins were laughing in the public, happy their Head of House was helping the defeat of their hereditary enemy, but a large majority of the House of ambition were staying silent and harbouring stone-faced expressions, not amused by the spectacle so brazenly displayed.

It was a miracle that Gryffindor was only losing thirty-zero right now: Wood, the Keeper and Captain of Gryffindor was excellent and had managed to stop four of the seven Hufflepuff shots. A good thing for him as the recruiters from the Quidditch team had noticed his performance. It was less good for the other players, as the penalties and other interruptions made by the Slytherin referee made impossible to play anything looking like a normal game of Quidditch. Was Snape that petty to attempt the destruction of the future career of the Gryffindor team, Alexandra wondered inwardly. In her heart, she already knew the answer to that question.

BLAM!

Up in the air, a Bludger sent by one of the Weasley twins slammed in Snape breaking his right arm. With his only arm left in good condition, the Professor of Potions tried to hold on his broom, missing by an inch Neville Longbottom who was making a vertical dive.

"Well done George! Or was it Fred! I hope it hurt, you-"

"JORDAN!"

Alexandra had no need to be able to see the future to see Snape throwing a look full of fury to the Weasley Twin responsible and opened his mouth to award another penalty for Hufflepuff.

"Merlin's Beard! Longbottom has caught the Snitch!" Shouted Lee Jordan. And indeed, Longbottom has ceased to dive a few feet over the ground, and his right fist was tightened over a little golden ball with wings.

"150 to 30 for GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The stands where the Gryffindors stood burst in acclamations, and a crowd wearing red and gold went spilling on the pitch, carrying the Gryffindor team in triumph. Alexandra noticed even McGonagall and Dumbledore had went down with the rest of the students celebrating on the ground, with Dumbledore even saying a few words to the hero of the day. In the surroundings, Snape landed, holding his wounded arm with a black glare which made the Hufflepuffs near him ran away in urgency, and then spit on the ground. Classy.

The Head of House Slytherin looked livid and about to murder someone, as for the Slytherin students in the stands, they were silent and looking even more shocked than when they had been defeated by Gryffindor. Looking at her watch, Alexandra realised the match had lasted less than ten minutes. Perhaps not a record, but a good performance for any Seeker, let alone a first-year.

"This was not a good match, was it?" Asked Hermione, as the trio began to climb down the stairs of the pitch.

Nigel on her left side shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Alexandra almost missed a step at that. "I would hate seeing what you consider 'worse' in that case, Nigel." Seeing her friend turning his head towards her with a questioning face, she elaborated. "Snape was so obvious in his hate of Gryffindor he turned the entire match into a joke to make Gryffindor lose."

"According to the rules, the referee is not supposed to be impartial in Quidditch. You can bribe him too."

"Tell me you're joking."

"No, I'm not." Nigel rolled his shoulders. " But referees who tend to be too obvious when they advantage or penalise a team don't last long in League competitions. If the players don't manage to send him to the hospital before the end of the match, the referee is hunted by the fans until they think he has learnt his lesson. When you're surrounded by thousands of them in a stadium, you have better avoid that. "

"Lovely." said Hermione. By her tone, her opinion of Quidditch was now firmly situated somewhere deep underground.

"Matches can be funny too." Said Nigel defensively, having also noted the disapproving stare of their bushy-haired friend. "Every team playing against the Chudley Cannons usually take a moment to laugh."

"Why is the school so busy laughing about this League team anyway?" Demanded Alexandra. "I think I've heard at least half of the school mocking the Cannons since the beginning of the year. Even Flitwick makes plenty of jokes about them in Charms class."

"The Cannons were quite a successful team until the 1940s," replied the auburn-haired Lion. "They were funded in 1753 by Henry Chudley, a really famous Chaser who was fond of the orange colour. They went to win the League Cup twenty one times, the last in the 1890s I think. "

"What happened?"

"The Dark Lord Grindelwald happened," Nigel said grimly. "The Chudley family was one of the few British Houses in the Wizengamot to oppose him openly and went to fight in France in 1940. None came back and the House went extinct. After that, the team went successively to dozens of owners, and the quality dropped like a dungbomb. After 1960, the Cannons managed to take the last place in the League Cup ten times successively. And in 1972, they changed their motto from ' We shall conquer' to ' Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best' ." Nigel paused and then continued, this time in a more funny tone:

"In the last years, the Cannons have only avoided the place of dead last three times, and at each occasion it was a very near thing. They have become rather famous for their catastrophic performances, recruiting the unluckiest players of the League and suffering an incredible rate of wounded at each match."

"Ouch!" said Alexandra, feeling a bit sorry for the poor supporters of the Chudley Cannons. "Wait a minute? Isn't this team the one Ron Weasley so proud of?"

"Yeah" sighed Nigel. "He has plastered a lot of posters and banners of the Cannons everywhere he could in the boys dormitory. Can't see his wall without feeling a bit nauseous."

"Why? I mean from what you've told me this team is so bad they haven't a chance to win the Cup!"

"True, but as a result of their issues, the fan-club of the Chudley Cannons is now only consisting of Quidditch fanatics."

"Oh! And Weasley is one of those, I suppose?"

Nigel nodded silently before adding:

"Thank Merlin the rest of the boys in Gryffindor are not fans of the Cannons. Dean is a fan of a Muggle sport called 'footballe.'"

"Football," corrected Alexandra.

"Seamus is a fan of the Holyhead Harpies, Neville and Leo support Puddlemere United."

"What is your favourite team?"

"The Appleby Arrows. My father is always getting tickets and going with me to their matches when he has the time." Nigel frowned. " But his work doesn't leave him much time. And, grandfather, well, he thinks Quidditch today is a sport for weaklings. He prefers good old-fashioned duelling."

Alexandra and Hermione both gulped at that. The match between Gryffindor and Slytherin (and for that matter Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff too) had proven both girls grave injuries were likely when playing Quidditch. If you were really unfortunate, you did not leave the pitch alive. Never Alexandra had the idea to call this sport "soft." A fight worthy of Medieval times, yes. A sport for weaklings, no. Hell no. For not the first time, Alexandra wondered what was wrong with Nigel's grandfather.

These thoughts were brutally interrupted by the awful din made by a wave of students in red and gold carrying their Quidditch team towards Hogwarts doors in triumph. The clamour which was made right now by the Gryffindors had the potential to make a person deaf.

"Thankfully, I'm not a Gryffindor." Said Alexandra, smirking at Hermione."The Lions look ready to make a row all night!"

"The Ravenclaw tower is not far from ours, you know..." Reminded with a smirk the Gryffindor brunette.

"Ah, fair enough..."

As much as her two friends threw her thunderous glares after that, neither Nigel nor Hermione found it easy to show joy after that. For good reason, in her opinion. It was not even the time for lunch, but virtually the entire Gryffindor House was in the Great Hall busy eating and drinking the maximum of edible things in the minimum of time. It was not a pleasant spectacle, especially with some Gryffindors singing in voices which could have broken mirrors.

"Your House is going to venerate Neville as a God by Monday." Affirmed Alexandra seriously, seeing sixth-years leaving the hall with the Boy-Who-Lived on their shoulders to go in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Why are they so fond of Quidditch anyway?" asked Hermione with a groan. "It's just a game!"

"So were the gladiators in Ancient Rome, Hermione." Alexandra remarked."At least ours don't leave half the team dead at the end of the day."

"Yet." said Nigel in a dark tone. "When Snape left the pitch, he looked ready to murder half of the school."

"No, he won't do that." The green-eyed girl told Nigel, although in her own mind she was far from optimistic about the final issue. " But if I was one of the Golden Trio, I wouldn't expect a good mark in Potions for the rest of their stay at Hogwarts."

Their conversation ended as the noise coming from the Lions was becoming unbearable. Leo Black and the Weasley Twins were launching small self-made fireworks, and Alexandra left in a hurry to the library before the master pranksters of the school targeted her. Perhaps in definitive, their Potions Professor poisoning the most troublesome students would not be that bad...

 **8 March 1992, Forbidden Forest, Scotland**

The dark-robed figure stood over the lifeless unicorn, small gasps revealing the hunt had been no easy task. Had it been anywhere else than the Forbidden Forest, the volume of noise produced by the confrontation would have attracted plenty of unwelcome observers. But in the middle of this dark forest, and at an hour the average humans and diurnal animals soundly slept, no one had been there to protect or assist the white-robed magnificent creature.

To be fair to the authorities who had completely failed their duty, protecting a unicorn was not needed in ninety-nine percent of cases. The pure white magic fuelling the unicorn was a formidable defence, and if it collapsed the magical legendary one-horned animal had speed and dolphin-levels of intelligence to evade any threat. Unicorn hair and parts of its skin were useless for witches and wizards if the animal had not granted the permission to use them. Incredibly useful, yes, but anything taken without authorisation from the pure being would be cursed thoroughly for decades or centuries depending on the offence made.

The vast and quasi-totality of the wand-wielders across the world had long ago arrived to the conclusion antagonising a unicorn was more trouble than it was worth, and the imbecile who was ready to do it deserved what was coming to him.

Yet there was something about the unicorns which was not common knowledge, but more related to the information hoarded by the practitioners of esoteric and immoral magic. Unicorn blood, if drank, had the possibility of stopping death.

But the price was awful beyond any recognition. First, the killing of the unicorn because none of the horse-like beings would authorise such an abominable act, a feat which darkened your life until the last breath and was the equivalent of drinking a full dose of the Elixir of Misfortune. There was worse. When the lips of the offender touched the blood, all senses progressively died leaving no pleasure, no contentment, no happiness, only endless suffering. Besides, the soul was from this moment and onwards damned for all eternity with no recourse. The remaining life of the perpetrator was going to be pure hell, and this endless torture would continue in the afterlife.

Considering the few things the witches and wizards had known of the Higher Powers which sometimes choose to intervene in the reality, this obscene murder had rarely been done, and then more in ignorance and stupidity than in true malice. There were prices to pay no one sane witch or wizard would ever consider. But as the dark-robed figure bent to touch the still hot corpse of the unicorn proved, there were always a few beings too far gone in the darkness to understand there were things that really should not be done.

The instant the lips touched the cursed silver liquid, loud screams echoed in the Forbidden Forest.


	15. Stories start in the library

**Chapter 15**

 **Histories start in the library**

 **April 11 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Alexandra groaned as she finished the last line of her Potions essay with her quill. With Saturday morning being bright and sunny, she had hoped getting rid of her homework in one hour or two and then going outside doing some sport or simply enjoying the weather with her friends. Flitwick had been particularly vicious in his duels last night, and she would have really enjoyed the relaxation. Unfortunately, the professors seemed to have concerted to bury the first-years under the weight of homework and essays. With the exams of the end of the year approaching, each teacher competed in ingenuity to give them the longest and difficult assignment possible. The Easter holidays, only one week away from now, promised to be more stressing than the Christmas ones.

The homework she had just been working on was a case in this point. Following the explosion of the cauldron of Sally-Anne Perks on Monday, Professor Snape had been in a massacring humour, and ordered them to write a roll of parchment on the subject of snake fangs. As the information on this ingredient was in the library and not on the current first-year book, Alexandra and the rest of the class had been forced to go row after row searching for books specialising on the effects of the Strength potion, the Boil-Cure Potion and many others. Even by beginning this homework on Wednesday, with the current amount of work delivered by the other classes, Alexandra had just finished the last touches on her essay. At three o'clock in the afternoon, far later than she had ever imagined. At least it was the last piece of homework she had to be done this week, so now she was free to do something else other than list the various proprieties of the fangs from venomous snakes. Closing the massive book Snake _parts: What good are they?_ she had opened two hours ago, Alexandra looked around her, and saw Hermione looking pensively at her on the other side of the desk she was currently sitting on.

Of their trio, the Gryffindor girl had been by far the first drawing up revision tables and underlining all her notes in bright colours for the upcoming exams. When Nigel had had the bad idea to tell her exams were still eight weeks away and she had no need to begin such an arduous amount of revision, the answer had been bearing more than her standard level of 'aggressive'.

"What am I revising for? Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's got into me …"

Poor Nigel hadn't since tried to question Hermione planning of revision. Neither had Alexandra for that matter. Still, Hermione took things far too seriously in her opinion. Discussing with Flitwick after her duels on Friday evening, Alexandra had learnt no student had ever been forced to do again his first-year since the 1870s. In reality, before fifth-year and the OWLS examinations, it was really difficult to redo a year at Hogwarts, and nearly impossible to be dismissed because of your results. If there were students like Crabble and Goyle every year in Slytherin, she was ready to accept her Head of House explanation on the spot.

That was not to say grades and exams at Hogwarts were not important, quite the contrary. Some options taken in third-year like Arithmancy were not accessible anymore if a student received failing grades in the subject at the end of a year. There was also the not very spoken understanding that while the professors had not the power to force a boy or a girl to abandon his magical studies, they had the right to refuse one of their students entry in their class past the fourth year if they judged teaching this teenager was a waste of their time. This right was rarely used, but it existed.

After fifth year, things changed considerably as the Senior Professors set their own requirements to attend their courses. The magical grades of Hogwarts were 'O' for 'Outstanding', 'E' for Exceeds Expectations, 'A' for Acceptable, 'P' for 'Pitiful' , 'D' for Dreadful and 'T' for 'Troll'. Only the three first grades validated a course, and a student had to earn at least two OWLS from the twelve existing classes to stay at Hogwarts. In reality, the teaching staff accepted back teenagers who had had at least three OWLS with one 'E' awarded. While Flitwick had revealed to her Charms studied were open to any Hogwarts alumni having an 'A', he was definitely an exception. Most of the other classes required an 'E', with the exception of History of Magic (that few boys and girls except some studious Ravenclaws dared to take anyway) and Defence Against the Dark Arts (which was changing professors at the end of each year). Professor Snape in Potions class was the worst: he accepted nothing but "O" for sixth and seventh years! Fortunately, the preoccupation of the OWLS score was still some years away for Alexandra. Though it didn't stop certain persons to project themselves forward.

"The day I don't have Potions will be the happiest day of my life..." Grumbled Nigel, a gloomy look on his visage as the shy Lion appeared more and more buried under his Potions notes. "I want to be a journalist, not a bloody Potioneer..."

"I don't know if you would be a good journalist, Nigel..."

Alexandra almost face-palmed at that. Sometimes Hermione insensitivity was surfacing at the worst of the moments.

"Why not?" Asked the raven-haired girl, seeing Nigel had almost crawled under the library's table in shame. "Nigel is honest, reliable, and present facts well in his writings. When you have finished reading him, you want to read more. I think he would make a very good journalist."

"But he's..." Hermione tact made an instant return and she didn't finish the sentence. Nigel's visage had in the mean time taken the colour of a tomato, and the Gryffindor was seemingly embarrassed of the compliment Alexandra had given.

"Shy?"

"Yes..."

"He's making progress. And no one is perfect. Nigel has an idea of a job he wants to do when he finishes his studies. Me, I have no clue..." Alexandra's voice change to a bit of melodrama at the end, although there was definitely a point of frustration. For all her ideas of enjoyment, she had not really found a profession finding grace to her eyes.

"You told us you wanted to travel around the world, have some adventures and discover new landscapes..." Mumbled Nigel, rosy in complexion.

"Sure. And I still want to do it." Alexandra confirmed, passing her hand in her long black hair thoughtfully. "But I would define it as a hobby, not as a way to earn money..."

"Like being a librarian?"

The tone of voice was too innocent for Hermione Granger, sounding dozens of alarms in Alexandra's head.

"Please tell me you do not intend to stay in a room of books all your life, Hermione." The sentence pronounced by the Potter Heiress was half-incantation, half-prayer. The answer from the brown-haired Gryffindor girl was a loud huff, which augured nothing good.

"Finished the Potions Essay?" Alexandra asked Hermione, aware her friend was going to camp on her positions, and that this was one she was not going to convince her to budge. Better to change the subject of the conversation.

"The one on Snake fangs? I finished it last evening. You?"

"Just put the last touch right now. Glad it's over."Alexandra suddenly had a disturbing thought. "One minute...we were given the essay on Monday with the Hufflepuffs. But the only moment Snape could give you the homework was yesterday. And you did it in one evening?"

The face of Hermione suddenly looked like a tomato ready to burst. Alexandra sighed, hearing Hermione whisper "Bloody observant friend..."

"Sometimes, Hermione, you will have to explain to me why the Hat didn't put you in Ravenclaw?" The Potter heiress asked rhetorically with a smirk.

"That's a question we would also like the answer!" Said a loud voice behind her.

Alexandra turned her head and refrained to groan or smack her head repeatedly on the desk.

"Longbottom, Black, Weasley." She said in a cold tone."I don't remember inviting you in this private conversation."

"You should be happy Alex," said the red-haired member of the Golden Trio, as brash as usual " that we are interested in bookworms like you..."

"My name is Alexandra Potter." The Ravenclaw replied in a frozen tone. "You are not my friend or my ally, Weasley. You will call me Potter or if I give you the authorisation, Alexandra. Call me Alex once again and we will see if you like speaking with a girl voice for one month or two."

"Actually, House Longbottom, Weasley and Potter are allied in the Wizengamot. The Light Party." Contradicted Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived's posture emitting suddenly pleasure at the fact she obviously wasn't at the top of things when politics were involved. "Didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you? You know, with the debt your House owes to mine..."

Alexandra in the privacy of her own mind put another black mark on the case of the Chief Warlock. Her magical guardian could at least take the bother of informing her who she was 'allied' to by a simple letter. Apparently, she was not worth the effort. Well, if Merlin reborn could not, neither did she.

"I don't remember speaking face to face alone with our great headmaster once in my life" Alexandra said truthfully, putting her hand over the place her heart laid. Then she added in a mocking and falsely hurt tone. "I'm sure this great man has things more important than dealing with me, don't you think?"

"Hey, don't speak of Professor Dumbledore like that!" Shouted Weasley.

Alexandra rapidly turned her head towards the extremity of the library, hoping Madam Pince, the angry librarian, had not heard this outburst. Fortunately not. Damn, she had heard some persons venerated the Gandalf-like figure of the Wizarding world, but the Potter Heiress was not seeing often witches or wizards willing to defend Dumbledore's reputation despite not having said one real insult. Ronald Weasley was by all evidence was one of them.

"Tell what you have to say and go. Some of us are trying to work here." Alexandra affirmed in a soft whisper which carried very well her annoyance. Trying to reason Weasley 'his faith in Dumbledore was excessive' did not figure in her plan for the year. Alexandra knew a lost cause when she saw one.

"Do you know who Nicolas Flamel is?" Asked Longbottom. Ah, that was the reason of their visit. No progress had been made since the Ravenclaw girl had overheard them at Christmas.

"Of course." Alexandra said in a surprised tone."I'm really surprised you don't."

"Why?" Asked Leo Black in a puzzled tone.

"Well, the man is a famous alchemist and known friend of the Headmaster. He is even mentioned on Dumbledore's card in the Chocolate Frogs."

"But we didn't find him anywhere in recent works!" Protested Ron Weasley.

"The man is famous for his alchemic works and creating the Philosopher's stone, Weasley! He's over six hundred years old! Of course he will not appear in recent magical inventions!"

For a moment, she wondered if she would have to give even more information to the Gryffindor trio, but it seemed Longbottom and Black had taken the hint. Unlike Weasley which sounded completely lost. In an instant, the Golden Trio ran out of the library wing where Alexandra, Nigel and Hermione were sitting. Alexandra had not even heard a thanks from Longbottom and his sidekicks. The supposed House of nobility had really manners to learn in everyday's life.

"Why did you answer their question and how did you know the answer?" Asked Hermione in a suspicious voice. The two Gryffindors had remained silent thorough the conversation, a manner like another not to attract even more scorn and light bullying from their housemates.

Alexandra dithered for a moment whether she wanted to answer truthfully or not. On the one hand, Nigel and Hermione would probably be safe if she kept the secret until the year was over. On the other hand, with Longbottom searching and putting his nose where he didn't belong, the probabilities were skyrocketing the two Gryffindors would be involved in one manner or another. Not telling them would be not only a breach of their trust, but could also keep them alive.

Alexandra sighed and then choose. It was not going to be a pleasant explanation.

"I heard them discussing the topic with Hagrid," Alexandra stated, rolling her shoulders "and I was curious so I did my research. Of course, I had heard the name in non-magical legends and myths. As for why I did answer their question, I wanted them out of the library. Seeing them search row after row and book after book was no more fun after several weeks. With them in proximity, it was becoming difficult to work in peace. Other questions?" The green-eyed girl finished, hoping her friend would stop there.

"Yes. Why were they searching about Flamel? And why are you calling the muggle world non-magical?" Demanded the auburn-haired boy.

"Do you want the honest answer?" Frowned Alexandra. At the combined nod of approval from Hermione and Nigel she answered.

"They are searching about Flamel because his Philosopher Stone is hidden in the Forbidden Corridor of the third floor." Seeing her friend go white at that information and staring at her open-mouthed. "The entrance is guarded by a gigantic three-headed dog. A Cerberus. Then there is a Devil Snare, some Flying Keys, a gigantic exchequer with massive statues to play, a mountain troll, several poisons and an enchanted mirror. Those are the main traps I saw.

And I don't pronounce the 'Muggle' word because it is an insult to people which don't have any magical powers. Seriously, we are all humans. Do I call Nigel 'pureblood' before engaging every conversation?"

But Hermione didn't seem to have heard the second part of her tirade. She was now pale like death, and looking really terrified.

"A-a three headed dog? A mountain troll?" Hermione slowly spoke, like she was uncertain of Alexandra's words, but the fear in her voice was clear. Alexandra winced. She should have known mentioning the troll was going to unleash a reaction like this. The bushy-haired Gryffindor had endured an awful experience with this sort of creature on Halloween.

"Big paws, big fangs, three heads, yes. And the troll...well it's a troll. Ugly, grey and smell like a dustbin in decomposition."

"I hope they are chained at least. Something that dangerous..." Hermione asked in a nervous voice. "They are chained right?"

"I'm not sure about the Cerberus." Alexandra was forced to admit, making her friends pale further, if it was humanly possible. "But I suppose so. The door is not strongly protected, so there must be something that forces the dog to stay inside the room and not go running in the rest of the castle. The troll is in a room with enchanted doors so it can't get out, that I'm sure."

"Fantastic."Hermione closed her eyes."How long have you known?"

"Christmas." Alexandra admitted. "Honestly, Hermione, I thought you knew of the Cerberus's presence. Most of the boys of your House have gone to the corridor and saw it. Well, except Nigel, of course. He's intelligent enough to stay far away from this place."

Hermione huffed at that, though Alexandra didn't know if that was at the fact she hadn't told her or the issue that most of her own House had chosen to not trust her with such sensitive information.

"I must go back to the Common Room for Nigel's Transfiguration Essay" The bushy-haired Gryffindor stated, standing as she affirmed it. An affirmation, Alexandra knew pertinently false, but let go for the moment. She had figured there would be some pay-back for her not revealing her actions, now she could only hope Hermione and Nigel would forgive her. "You will help him tomorrow for his Charms?"

"Sure." Alexandra said. "Same place, ten o'clock?"

"And don't think I will forget you hid this from me!"

And with another huff, Hermione Granger walked away in the pace of an irritated person, followed quickly by a Nigel Wolpert showing his 'sorry' expression.

"If only you knew..." Alexandra whispered in a low tone, seeing the bushy-haired girl leaving the library.

Frankly, Alexandra had not told the entire truth to Hermione. Far from it. By the beginning of April, she was reasonably sure at least three-quarters of Gryffindor House had seen the Cerberus guarding the entry of the forbidden corridor supposed to guard the Stone (that or they had heard of it from a friend). Being aware of it and having connected the clues would not be a difficult thing to claim if someone came to ask for more information or questioned how she knew. However, she had been unable to confirm whether the trials and defences were specifically conceived to challenge Longbottom, Black and Weasley. Alexandra also didn't know if the Headmaster was aware of the theft she had committed or not.

There was also the problem of Quirell. The man was apparently after the Stone himself, posing himself as a coward to divert attention to more terrifying professors like Snape. The troll evidence was compelling, and it implied Junior Professor Devkins of Defence Against the Dark Arts was probably Quirell's subordinate in this little operation to divert attention from themselves. To aggravate things, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had also tried to assassinate Neville Longbottom.

Also concerning was the character of Nicolas Flamel. Alexandra had sent Atalanta to the famous alchemist home in January, with a letter in which she proposed to give back his Stone. Her owl returned back in March, the letter still unopened and disappointed hoots marking her inability to achieve her task. So either Flamel's home was so well protected a magical owl had no chance to find it, or the Flamel couple was dead.

This was the last thing going wrong from a long list at Hogwarts. In the world she had just left, Alexandra was sure it would be enough to alert the police and the authorities. Placing students in danger of death. Murder attempts. Murder: Alex Sykes for certain, Nicolas Flamel possibly. But it was Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful man of Magical England she was speaking about. By the little bits of information heard in the corridor and the boast coming from the Gryffindor table during the meals, the man was seen as Merlin-reborn, the only rampart England had against the forces of Darkness. Headmaster of Hogwarts, magical equivalent of the Lord Chancellor and the lord Speaker of the House of Lords at the same time, Dumbledore was presiding the only international magical organisation of the world. Any accusation a first-year could make would be swept under the carpet, true or false.

Heading towards the section of history books she read for fun, Alexandra thought again about her decision to not inform Hermione of this minefield. While it pained her to not reveal everything to one of the only friends she had, the danger was simply too great. Hermione's tendency to venerate the professors had faded, but there was a felling of righteousness in her friend which would drive her as sure as the sun rose to butt heads with the Hogwarts establishment, in particular Professor McGonagall. The Head of House Gryffindor drinking the words of the headmaster as divine truth, Hermione and Alexandra would be expulsed from Hogwarts by the next day at the very least in the best of cases. That was, if most of the clues and conclusions she had gathered were false. If not, she would not leave the castle alive.

Taking _English History of the Twelfth Century_ from a row, the raven-haired Ravenclaw marched back to her seat and began to read. Absorbed in her lecture, she didn't notice a person sitting in the seat in front of her.

"Forgot anything Hermione?" Alexandra demanded absently.

"I'm not a girl, Potter." Affirmed an elegant, cultured voice she had heard once before in a red train.

Alexandra groaned internally. First, Longbottom, Black and Weasley. Secondly, a time of 'revelations' with Hermione on one of her least favourite subjects. And now him.

"What do you want, Zabini?" Alexandra livid green eyes ceased to read and fixed the boy sitting before her.

The dark-skinned pureblood had not changed much from the only time they had met and spoken in the Hogwarts Express. His robes were still looking meticulously perfect, every single clothe which could be seen was in the correct position. His nails were polished and his hairs looked like he had passed four times Alexandra's time in a bathroom to accomplish the perfect appearance of the arrogant pureblood in all his glory. Sometimes she wondered if the members of House Slytherin took the time off their revisions and their homework to pass their time in front of mirror, tracking the little imperfections of bodies. The depressing answer was 'probably'. Crabble and Goyle being the exceptions, of course.

"I'm hurt Potter. You sound like you aren't happy to see me. Don't tell me you are becoming like the Gryffindors in believing "All Slytherins are evil!" ?"

"No, I am firmly on the side "Gryffindors and Slytherins are stupid, let's them kill each other!" She replied in a trait of black humour.

Zabini winced at that, whispering something which sounded like "Bloody Malfoy..." Interesting in her opinion that he didn't tried to defend the behaviour of Draco and his followers.

"As funny as your point was, I'm afraid I'm not here for that."

"And what are you here for? Your stash of poisons ran out of ingredients? There is a curse you don't know how to locate in the library?" Alexandra paused an instant. "The condolences for the next husband of your mother?"

"I want you to give me private lessons."

That was a sentence Alexandra had not classed in her top ten for a request coming from a Slytherin.

"Repeat that again?" She said in an incredulous voice.

"You understood me correctly the first time." Zabini smirked, sounding really amused by her perplexity.

"Why? You are well, a pureblood and..."

"Yes, I'm a pureblood." Zabini looked testy at that."And as my mother liked to remind me at the Christmas holidays, I'm at the bottom of the class like the rest of my fellow housemates." The last two words were pronounced was full of venom. "If I do not want to pass all my summer with private tutors like my mother promised me, I must raise my notes and climb up in the rankings."

"That does not explain why you came to me. There are older students in Slytherin who could teach you much better than me, I'm sure."

"You do not know Slytherin very well, do you, Potter?" Zabini replied. "In our House, everything is about favours, wealth and influence. Having an older student for tutor would cost me a lot of money, and if knowledge came out I searched one, my standing inside the House would be destroyed by Malfoy and his goons."

"Never mind that Crabble and Goyle are the dead lasts of our year." At Blaise's nod of approbation, she continued. "That doesn't explain why you are addressing yourself to me? There are a lot of Ravenclaws who love nothing but study. 'Bookworms' like one Ron Weasley loves to nickname us. One of the third or fourth-years would make an excellent tutor I'm sure."

"That's true." admitted Blaise."The problem is, unless I forced one of them to accept an Oath of Silence about what they are teaching me, my strengths and my weaknesses would be available to whatever political faction they belong."

Alexandra posed a moment to consider about Blaise was saying. As the Potter Heiress was an outcast in Ravenclaw House, she had big difficulties to keep a civil conversation with any of her housemates for any length of time. The difficulty increased if the subject was not Quidditch or what you thought about the classes of this week. Thus, Alexandra had really little information related to the persons in her year. She certainly knew nothing about their politic affiliations. This was not the kind of thing you spoke about to a complete stranger. Perhaps what Zabini said was completely bogus. But it could also be right. No way to judge.

"Assuming you speak the truth, why should I say yes? When the news will break out and they will, Malfoy will send all his lackeys after me. I have already my own House complotting to kill me. I really don't feel happy at the idea of adding another quarter of the school to the list of people I must fight."

"Malfoy will never be your ally." Remarked Blaise.

"True. But are you ready to stand with me when this blonde slimy snake comes after me with his two gorillas? Thought not." Alexandra affirmed when Zabini 's eyes refused to meet her directly as she spoke.

"I could pay you." The pureblood voice has become almost inaudible.

"Money isn't everything Zabini. And gold is unimportant when you're dead. Besides, while I'm not wealthy like a Malfoy, I am not poor."

"So why do you wear these Muggle drags when you're out of class? You love being seen in the same category as the Weasleys?"

"I will pretend I did not hear this last remark, Zabini. But for your information, these 'Muggle drags' as you called them are a lot more practical when you are attacked than the robes you're wearing. And unlike the rest of you, I'm not wearing things which are two centuries out of fashion." Alexandra drew her wand from the holster on her right arm in a fluid and rapid move, a feat nearly impossible in execution with the bulky witches' robes.

Silence came between Blaise and Alexandra, each side seemingly pausing to consider what the other has said in the conversation. Personally, Alexandra didn't like what she had been forced to listen. Unlike Hermione and Nigel who had the nobility wells of the Gryffindors in them, Blaise Zabini had not an ounce of loyalty in him. To say the truth, Alexandra suspected the meaning of the word was unknown to him. In a fight, he would be next to useless at best, the weekly Gryffindors-Slytherins ambushes had proven that beyond doubt. At worse, he would stab her in the back as soon as she had not her eyes on him anymore. Academically, Zabini was in the last quarter of the rankings and was only decent in Potions and Astronomy. Rumours and whispers were telling his only specialty was in undetectable poisons like his mother. Did Alexandra want to be friend with someone like that? In her own mind, she knew the answer was a loud 'NO!'. Living at the Dursleys had taught Alexandra how cruel people could be when they had not your best interests at her. Blaise was only searching for a way not to fail in half of his classes. This was hardly what Alexandra would recognise as her 'best interests'. Assuming of course, it was not just a plot of a certain blond first-year Slytherin to put her in trouble. Those sorted in the House of Snakes were hardly subtle, but there was always a possibility someone started to use his brain. Stranger things had happened.

"I am going to have to decline your offer, Zabini. You will have to find another tutor." Alexandra said, in her best neutral tone.

"You can't refuse my offer like that!" The exclamation of the dark-skinned boy was incredulous, like he had not seriously expected her to decline his offer. His tone then calmed a bit, in a furious whisper. "If my mother..."

"Discover you passed your whole time sneering and cursing the students who are too weak to defend themselves against you instead of studying? Too bad for you." Alexandra had taken a disapproving voice. While Blaise Zabini was far from the most assiduous follower of Draco Malfoy, he participated like the rest of House Slytherin in verbal abuse towards the students having no 'pure' ancestry and those of lower standing than him. Well, it seemed these hours passed to bully his way in the corridors had not been profitable to his performances on the academic field.

Ranging her affairs and bringing back to their rows the books she had used for her essay, Alexandra prepared to leave the wing. Blaise had still not moved from his chair.

"I would be careful if I were you outside Potter." Blaise whispered.

"Is that a threat?" Alexandra asked, wondering internally if she would have to ask Flitwick the spells to verify if her food and her drinks weren't poisoned.

But the first-year Slytherin refused to say more, glancing quickly to see if there were others students around to hear their conversation. After ten seconds, his only reply was a "Good luck Potter" and he departed, not running but walking rapidly like he had suddenly an emergency of some kind.

Now alone in the library, Alexandra frowned. It had been too long since she had been the target of an attack at Hogwarts. She had made the optimistic assumption that no one would dare attack her again, with the terrifying rumours which had circulated about her murdering a full grown mountain troll, but apparently she had been deadly wrong. If indeed Blaise Zabini was right and there was an ambush waiting for her outside the library, it was likely they were prepared and had Slytherins inside their ranks to gather the maximum of magical power against her. Best case, it was only Malfoy and his cronies. Worst case, twenty Slytherins and twenty Ravenclaws, most of them older years. Unlikely, but not impossible. Alexandra was enough realist to know she could not win against such odds.

Looking at her watch, she saw it was five minutes before four o'clock. She could wait in the library two hours and then got to dinner, but there was no certainty her stalkers would not wait that long. It was not as if they were obsessed with their school revisions. Sighing, Alexandra realised she had become too predictable in her schedule. Flitwick had warned her against this habit in the duels, but evidently she should have also applied it to her way of life. And now it was going to end badly.

With her bag on her shoulder, she opened the only door allowing to get out of the library and began to run in a corridor on the right leading to a not very well known stair on the fifth floor.

"AFTER HER!"

Alexandra tried not to laugh hearing that. Apparently, dozens of defeat had not made Draco Malfoy more subtle or careful in strategy planning. If the noises of cavalcade behind her were any indication, it had made the 'wait until my father hears this' pureblood even more brash and straightforward.

The corridor Alexandra had taken was not well-frequented between classes; it was completely deserted on a Saturday afternoon. With her good physical condition, she was able to run half an hour before being forced to stop breathless, even with a bag on her shoulder. Behind her, Malfoy and whoever he had recruited to do the attempt were losing ground, having not practised jogging or duelling in their free time.

When Alexandra reached the stairs, she was thirty meters before her pursuers. Throwing two or three trap spells on the corridor she had just ran from, Alexandra climbed up the stairs, remarking it was 'only' Draco Malfoy, his usual followers Crabble, Goyle, Parkinson, Nott, Bulstrode, Vaisey and what looked to be three fourth-years Ravenclaws with the Slytherins. So it was ten against one, and her housemates were the most dangerous of the lot. It was probably the Ravens who had had the idea of this little ambush, and Malfoy had sabotaged it by his simple presence.

Alexandra did not stop running on top of the stairs, instead continuing to pose simple first-years traps behind her and boosting the advance on her pursuers. Unless she was badly mistaken, all the attackers after her were purebloods. Considering the disdain most the nobility heirs and heiresses of the Wizarding world felt towards physical exercise, she had decided to tire them a bit before engaging the fight.

After three more corridors and two more stairs, Alexandra stopped. Her advance had become sufficiently important for only the older Ravenclaws to maintain a retard of fifty or so meters. The Slytherins first years were lagging far behind at the bottom of the stairs, red-faced from this unanticipated effort.

Throwing a wall of smoke, Alexandra took position under a pillar at her right, hoping that irritated from the long hunt, the Ravenclaws would charge ahead without thinking. To her great surprise, they did.

"Sorry, but a lot of people have angered me today. LUMOS!"

It had been a long time she had ceased to use this tactic of duel against Flitwick: her little Head of House had magical glasses which allowed him to deflect most of the blindness coming from one of her overpowered spell of light.

"ARRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Opening back her eyes, she knew by the screams of pain the light spell had once again done the job. The three Ravenclaws fourth-years, two of them who incidentally had been the deceased Alex Sykes followers, were shouting and trying to hold their eyes, completely blind. Alexandra did not miss the opportunity and immobilised them with three Petrificus Totalus. Held by invisible ropes, the three older teenagers fell on their back, neutralised. The ambush had not taken half a minute.

"Three down, seven to go." Alexandra told herself. Indeed, the strident shouts of Draco Malfoy were already coming nearer, having profited from the time spent to arrive on the scene.

"Slytherin and no quarter!" Exclaimed Draco Malfoy, staying near the stairs and making charge in the corridor his minions Crabble and Goyle, followed by the four other first-years.

"GONDOR!" Alexandra shouted back. After having put three of her own housemates under body-bind, she would be damned before she screamed the name of Ravenclaw.

Then the raven-haired girl began to cast.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS! FURUNCULUS! MUCUS AD NAUSEAM! PETRIFICUS TOTALUS! FLIPENDO! VERMILLIOUS! VERDIMILLIOUS!"

Crabble and Goyle had absolutely no chance, being massive for their age. By the time she casted "FLIPENDO!", Crabble was body-bound and Goyle was groaning in pain, covered in boils with his nose and his mouth full of mucus.

Parkinson, Vaisey, Nott and Bulstrode received the rest of her spells but continued to advance casting their own hexes and jinxes in return. Which missed completely. Terrible aim. Moreover, Alexandra was behind a pillar and could take cover. The Slytherins were in the middle of the corridor. Now if only they could stay there...

"COLLOSHOO! COLLOSHOO! COLLOSHOO! COLLOSHOO!"

The Stickfast Hex had only one main application: stick someone shoes to the ground. Of course, it was useless against professional duellists who knew how to protect their foot and their legs, but the Slytherins she was fighting were not professionals. Vaisey and Bulstrode didn't stop running, and as such slammed on the floor on their face when their shoes were suddenly stuck on the floor. Parkinson slammed into the wall and didn't move anymore. But Nott managed to immobilise himself in time.

"ANTEOCULATIA!" Theodore Nott snarled, having apparently not appreciated at all seeing his housemates falling one by one.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow at that. She had just taken down eight students, and Nott wanted to curse her with horns? This boy had really no sense of priorities.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

And Nott joined the rest of the first-Slytherins unable to move on the floor of the corridor.

Fifty meters away, Draco Malfoy looked at her with fear and shock on his face. Transpiring and breathing hard, the self-proclaimed leader of Slytherin had apparently not fully recuperated from their little jogging in the corridors of Hogwarts. Too bad for him. However, she had not the intention to let him run to Snape's office and proclaim an outlandish piece of fiction which had no contact whatsoever with reality. Seeing the heir of the Malfoy family beginning to run in the other direction, Alexandra pursued him and reduced the distance without effort, the escape speed of her last opponent being desperately slow.

"LOCOMOTOR MORTIS!"

The spell touched Draco Malfoy in his back and tied magically his legs together. As the blonde was running without even thinking of what she could throw at him, the effect was immediate. Draco Malfoy lost his equilibrium and crashed into a painting representing monks, before collapsing slowly against the wall, visibly unconscious.

"And this was the last. Ten out of ten." Alexandra said.

Looking around her, she wondered how she was going to explain the new attack. This was not like the long-lasting feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin: unlike Longbottom and the Lions, no one was going to try to protect her against the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. Unless...

Grabbing Draco Malfoy by the feet and dragging him where the other nine students had fallen, Alexandra had a very nasty thought. The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins knew she was responsible for their predicament. But should someone unknown modify the scene of the 'crime' to make it even more pathetic for her attackers, well. Perhaps the students lying defeated at her feet wouldn't dare go to Snape and declare their distorted version of the events. The Potions Master didn't like the three other Houses, but he hated even more seeing when his Snakes were caught doing the deed they were accused of. With a smile which would have made a predator take three steps back, Alexandra began to cast Charms on the corridor. Her work done, she gathered the ten wands of the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins and left the sixth floor where the fight had taken place. Alexandra had a Head of House to inform, her version of events to spread around Hogwarts and ten wizards wands to deliver.

"Now if only all the problems were all that simple to solve..."


	16. Hogwarts welcomes a Dragon

**Chapter 16**

 **Hogwarts welcomes a Dragon**

 **April 26 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

In the end, Alexandra's subterfuge had worked. The vanquished Ravenclaws refused to reveal anything concerning the events of this Saturday afternoon. The Slytherins, with one notable exception, followed this politic of silence. Her plan of using spells of magic painting on them had worked beautifully, especially as she had used gold and red bright colours and drawled a magnificent lion on the wall above the unconscious and immobilised Ravens and Snakes.

The Hufflepuffs third-years who had discovered the scene had laughed all the way from the corridor to the Great Hall to inform the professors of these news. As Alexandra had used nothing more dangerous than the overpowered _Lumos_ , the ten boys and girls she had just made a laughing stock of had recuperated completely by the next morning and were in the first lines to be witness of their humiliation. The added point of Flitwick owning their wands and having the true version of the battle (minus the fact Blaise Zabini had warned her of the ambush) had forced the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins to shut their mouth and adopt a low profile. Being pranked by a band of Gryffindors was one thing. Openly announcing this was not a prank from the Lions but the result of a failed attack where they had outnumbered their opponent ten-to-one and been totally defeated would have been the equivalent of a political suicide in the castle. Too bad one of the ten vanquished students was too stupid to understand it.

For the ten thousandth time of the year, Alexandra had asked herself the question why Draco Malfoy had been sorted in Slytherin. The Malfoy heir only ambition was to rival Neville Longbottom. There were honestly worse things to thrive for.

However, Draco Malfoy had proved once more he was an insult to the qualities of cunning and ambition by going immediately to Snape at the hour of breakfast and spouting an adventure where Alexandra herself and Neville Longbottom, along with two dozens of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, had trapped the courageous and valiant Slytherins on the sixth floor. Outnumbered five-to-one, the Slytherins had still managed to stun three Ravenclaws before falling under the weight of the numbers. In term of faked history, it was a piece of art. Unfortunately, Malfoy had once more miscalculated. None of his followers or the Ravenclaws present had wanted to confirm his version of events; in fact it had alienated his former allies inside the Ravens ranks. Alexandra personally denied his story having happened in reality (which was true: Malfoy had lied and told another version of the battle). Neville Longbottom had been assigned a detention with Sprout for running out in the corridors after curfew at the very moment the attack was supposed to take place, as a result the Boy-Who-Lived had an alibi. Consequently, it was the words of Draco Malfoy against all the students who had been accused, and while Professor Snape had appeared ready to punish everyone on such flimsy evidence, Professor McGonagall had disagreed and had given a week of detentions Draco for lying to a professor and provoking fights in the corridors. The Transfiguration mistress had also removed fifty points from Slytherin.

"Wait until my father hears of this..." Had been of course Malfoy's too predictable answer, which had only convinced McGonagall to remove twenty more points and assign him a week of detentions for disrespect of a professor.

Draco Malfoy reputation at Hogwarts outside Slytherin House had not survived the incident in the week which followed. Moreover, no one outside the House of Snakes knew what had happened in their common room on Sunday evening, but by Monday House Slytherin had proceeded to cease all support for the heir of the Malfoy family and those who followed him. Not that the number of the latter was huge. In his fratricidal war with Theodore Nott in January, the blonde pureblood had been forced to recall and use too many favours for petty reasons. Now anyone older than a third-year turned his back and proceeded to ignore him. On April 19, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini openly broke their remaining ties with Malfoy, choosing to side at the other extremity of the table rather than sit with Draco. This massive affront to Draco 's leadership (for Slytherins anyway) had apparently no consequences whatsoever and the day after it was the turn of Byron Vaisey, the Carrow twins and Theodore Nott to leave his side. After that, Draco Malfoy had for the first time of his time at school (and probably his life) made a low profile. The first-year boy circle had been drastically reduced in size, now only including Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode.

"What did my housemates did promise the Slytherins in return for the ambush against me?" Alexandra asked one evening before her duel session with Flitwick. "It must have been good for Malfoy and his bodyguards to take such a risk."

"As they refused to acknowledge their culpability," replied her Head of House, "I can only make guesses. I would say they promised Mr Malfoy help in his feud against Mr Longbottom should they succeed, but it could be something else."

"If it was the favour, it was stupid for Malfoy to accept." Affirmed Alexandra. "The Ravenclaws are not going to charge into a fight against the Boy-Who-Lived. Not many of them are good fighters, and most of the Ravens don't want to get involved in the Gryffindor-Slytherin issues. Too much potential problems on the horizon."

"Perhaps," acknowledged Flitwick. "But remember you don't have many clues of what was involved in the deal."

Her Head of House had had a very good point as always. Her knowledge of the attack she had been the target on April 11 was missing everything besides the students who participated in it. Alas, Alexandra hadn't been able to know more. Headmaster Dumbledore had declared once again it was " a prank which went a bit overboard" once he returned from an ICW convention and promptly pressed the rest of the staff to forget such insignificant matters, as the precious Longbottom had been involved, if only in the periphery of the affair. Flitwick and Snape had had no choice but to obey. The Slytherins and the Ravenclaws had not even got detentions, being seen by Dumbledore as the victims of an odious prank.

"Is the man senile or taking drugs?" Alexandra had asked Nigel in one of her most exasperated moments after recounting him the details of the aggression.

"He's powerful. Very powerful." Had answered her Gryffindor friend. "My father says he has stayed in power so long he's convinced his views have to be the best ones for Britain and the Light."

That was not a very comforting thought in Alexandra's opinion. But as days passed and no further major incident happened to break the rhythm of Hogwarts classes, the ambush faded from the students' memory. With Malfoy staying quiet and isolated, even the battles between Lions and Snakes grew even less frequent.

In the end, this attack had allowed Alexandra, Nigel and Hermione to reveal their secrets and settle their differences.

"I forgive you, Alexandra." Had affirmed the brown-haired witch, the morning after the Ravenclaw-Slytherin debacle. "But don't you dare breaking the rules like entering the Forbidden Corridor without informing us first!"

"We forgive you..." Had mumbled Nigel, a deep change in his behaviour, where months ago the timid Gryffindor would not have had the courage to speak for or against her.

Today was bright and sunny. The sky was entirely blue and every person in the castle could feel summer was coming to Hogwarts. Very early this morning, Alexandra had been able to do an hour or so of jogging near the Black Lake in her sport clothes without having the need to take a cloak or some warm equipment to feel warm. If she had had the time, she would gladly have stayed on the shore of the Lake to take the sun and profit from this excellent spring weather.

Unfortunately, the green-eyed Ravenclaw had not the time to stay outside and do nothing. The Easter holidays were over, and now the exams of the end of the year were approaching. Homework and classes assignments were increasing at an impressive speed, and Alexandra had difficulties to stay ahead of the storm of work the teachers ordered them to work on while at the same time helping Nigel practising magic and explaining him the theory. Hermione helped when she could, but the bushy-haired girl passed a lot of time in the library, more than Alexandra and Nigel combined to be exact. Transfiguration, for example had moved on to copper and bronze magical manipulations, guaranteeing long hours of study and unsuccessful practise. Right now, Alexandra had to go to Professor Sinistra's office to give back her assignment on the different types of eclipses, a three-foot essay Hermione had already given to Sinistra three days ago.

"How does she manage that?" The Potter Heiress muttered under her breath, walking in the direction of the Astronomy tower. The affirmations of the Gryffindors that Hermione was a Ravenclaw in disguise were gaining more and more credibility as the end of the year approached.

Passing before two Hufflepuffs, she heard the third-years discuss about the next Quidditch match who was about to take place next week: Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. With Slytherin having narrowly defeated Ravenclaw 210 to 190 on the fourth week of March, this match was not the most discussed or debated but students were beginning to bet and predict strategies and scores all the same. To the member of Slytherin House's shame, however, there was really little chance for Slytherin right now to win the Quidditch Cup this year. Right now, Ravenclaw was first with 480 points, Gryffindor was second with 320 points, Slytherin was third with 280 points and Hufflepuff came last with 140 points. Therefore, unless Slytherin crushed largely Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match ended more or less in a draw, the Slytherins would not raise the Cup for the fifth consecutive year. A fact the Golden trio led by Neville Longbottom and supported by the rest of Gryffindor House were simply delighted to repeat whenever a Slytherin was present in proximity.

Continuing her walk in the direction of the Astronomy tower, she began to sweat. Groaning, she realised she would have to use the shower again today. The Ravenclaw common room in the tower was too far away from the other towers by conventional means; much like the rest of the classes except Charms, walking took really too much time in Hogwarts. Watching around her, she still found curious the sudden warmth. The corridor she was now walking on had no window on the southern side to let enter the sun at this hour.

"CATCH HIM!"

Alexandra sighed. Of course, even on Sunday morning, there was going to be an ambush waiting between the Snakes and the Lions. Getting her wand out of her pocket, she tried to see where the improvise duellists were. A few seconds passed. Nothing materialised. Alexandra frowned. And then another shout:

"NO! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE BY THE STAIRS!"

RRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!

The roar of a beast shook the corridor. Passing an embranchment from a corridor leading to the second floor, Alexandra looked around and then paled when she saw the source of the noise arriving in front of her in mid-air.

Two skinny brown wings. Large nostrils. Elongated claws. Orange eyes. Large, sharp fangs. Black ridges on the back. And of course, a maw where flames were coming out. A description all her sources of lecture, whether magical or non-magical agreed on. Dragon. Suddenly, the temperature anomaly in the corridor made a lot more sense.

Rolling against the wall on her left, Alexandra narrowly avoided the big ball of flames the dragon had just sent in her direction.

"On Halloween a troll. In the Forbidden Corridor a Cerberus. And now a dragon! Hogwarts is really becoming a menagerie of dangerous creatures!" Alexandra groaned.

The dragon was not discouraged by his failure to burn her on its first try, forcing her to dodge again the flames a second time. And a third. Determined to not end as a smoking corpse, she threw a first spell at the fire-breathing lizard coming to her mind.

"FLIPENDO!"

Only to be shocked as nothing happened. The brown skin of the dragon just absorbed the ray of magic like she had just sent a ray of sun at her target, a feat not even the mountain troll had been able of. Alexandra was forced to jump and dodge again the new ball of flames coming in her direction. Avoiding the attacks, she tried to think of the best means to get rid of this flying monstrosity but she couldn't think of anything. Throwing an overpowered Lumos didn't make him blind. The rest of her spells, curses, hexes and jinxes repertory proved utterly useless. Just as the dragon prepared another attack, sounds of people running came to her ears. Relieved, she breathed loudly. Like the eagles at the Battle of Five Armies, help was on the way. Now, she had only to hold for a bit longer.

"NORBERT IS HERE!" Shouted Neville Longbottom, running out from an adjacent corridor and throwing new spells at the dragon, which completely missed or revealed to be as useless as Alexandra efforts. "I FOUND HIM!"

On the instant, Alexandra's mind nearly shut down and she had a strong compulsion to take her head in her hands and sob at the unfairness of the world. The Boy-Who-Lived knew the name of the dragon. Longbottom shouted at the dragon. Longbottom was without doubt the person which had introduced the dragon in the castle. For a moment, she was awed by the arrogance of the Boy-Who-Lived, who had evidently an ego so large inviting a young dragon inside the castle was a natural thing. But only for a moment. The brown dragon threw a ball of fire at him again, forcing Neville to duck.

"Longbottom! What are his weaknesses?" The Potter Heiress shouted to the Gryffindor, hoping against all odds the boy had a spell to control the flying lizard.

"How I am supposed to know?" Replied in an angry tone Neville Longbottom. "I'm not a dragon specialist!"

"Just the one who brought it there I bet." The green-eyed Ravenclaw grumbled in an angry snarl. Formidable. She was caught in a corridor with Longbottom and a dragon, and her wand was next to useless. Much like with the troll. What sort of bad luck and angry deities made her ago against creatures which could stop the effects of her magic?

"NORBERT STOP IT!" Vociferated Longbottom as one fireball missed him by an inch and his counterattack of three spells finished in the wall. One more second, and the Boy-Who-Lived would have been roasted. Screaming and shouting at the dragon did not seem the way to deal with it.

"Now I know how Bilbo felt facing Smaug... "The raven-haired girl said throwing another Flipendo at the dragon to distract him. It was not an apt comparison, Alexandra had to admit: Smaug was a full grown dragon bigger than a gold mountain and able to devastate entire armies. This Norbert hadn't managed to kill Alexandra despite several attempts. For now.

"Too bad I have not a black arrow to deal with him. Oh, here goes nothing." Alexandra was forced to dodge another fireball by hiding behind one of the armours which were present by the dozens in Hogwarts. Regaining her breath, her eyes laid on the sword between the gauntlets of the armour. No, she had no black arrow to slay a dragon. But surely a big two-handed sword was going to be enough for a small lizard?

"HEY DRAGON!" She shouted at the creature which was on its way to hunt a shaking Neville Longbottom lying breathless against the corridor wall.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Alexandra had badly judged the strength she had put in her Levitation charm. The spell levitated the sword and the armour together, before propelling them in a surprised dragon which in spite of its swiftness didn't manage to escape all the mass of metal coming its way. Oooops. Seeing the look of fear on Longbottom's face, perhaps the expression on her face had been a bit too gleeful.

Small noises of pain interrupted her watching the Boy-Who-Lived still sweating in fear against the wall. The dragon had managed to avoid the sword she had sent its way, but not the armour. As these Middle Ages protections were traditionally large and heavy, the dragon had half of its body blocked under it, the tails and the wings if she was not mistaken. That said, it did not forbid him to use its fire-breath to send a fireball to the ceiling. Fortunately, seeing there was no fire outbreak in the corridor, she was forced to conclude there was some kind of magical protection or fire repellent on Hogwarts walls. That was not to say she intended to see how long the dragon was going to take to break the protections in question. Casting a Wingardium Leviosa spell again on the sword, this time without the armour, she levitated it over the dragon. The reptile ceased instantly his attempts at creating a barbecue, having received the message.

"What do you think you're doing?" Screamed Longbottom, who seemed to have recovered his voice at the worst moment possible.

"The dragon tried to kill me, Longbottom." Alexandra did not grit her teeth but it was hard not to. "It failed. I will ensure it will not try again. Permanently, before it becomes bigger than a house and tries to transform me in a roasted marshmallow. Again." Alexandra said in a slow explanation like she was speaking to an idiot. Seriously, did Neville Longbottom have not realised the threat this thing represented? If one fireball had touched one of them, the kind of burns she or Neville would have received could have been potentially deadly. The beast had the potential to become a dangerous cousin of Smaug if left one or two years to grow. And then there would be an uncontrollable wizard-killer in the nature. Better to avoid this scenario now.

"That will not be necessary Miss Potter." The black-haired Ravenclaw heard a voice behind her said. Alexandra turned her head and sighed. The eleven-year old had the impulse to say an insult or two, but it would surely speak poorly of her.

Headmaster Dumbledore was there, and he was not the only person present. Next to him were Leo Black and Seamus Finnigan, looking really stupid with their mouths wide open. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were right behind them, although looking at McGonagall you could see she had struggled to keep the rhythm of the other member of her group. In front of so many witnesses, killing something in cold blood was not a good idea, no matter how much this beast had been keen on murdering her. Moving the sword still in levitation she let it fall ten feet away from the dragon which had remained silent in the last seconds. With a large CLANG the sword clashed in a metallic noise on the floor.

"What the name in Merlin were you doing here?" Asked Professor McGonagall, again in that cold tone of voice which came when you were caught doing something at the wrong place and the wrong time. "You could have been killed!"

"I realise that Professor" Alexandra replied. "On the other hand, I am not responsible of this. I was on my way to the Astronomy tower to give back my assignment to Professor Sinistra when someone-" at this she glanced at Neville Longbottom who was paling remarkably quickly "-decided to smuggle a dragon in the castle and place it in the same corridor where I was walking. If I was paranoid, I would say it was an assassination attempt on me. "

Alexandra turned the rest of her voice in her best ironic tone. "Though I must give points of originality for the method chosen. A dragon is really not the common method to get rid of someone."

The sarcasm apparently went over the head of Professor McGonagall, who turned with eyes blazing fury in direction of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Mr Longbottom?" Drawled the Head of House Gryffindor.

All arrogance seemed to have deserted the leader of the Golden trio, who was at a loss to give a credible explanation why he was running after a young XXXXX creature in the corridors of Hogwarts.

"Now, now. Minerva. I'm sure there is a simple explanation for what Mr Longbottom did. Why don't we go back to my office to discuss what really happened?"

Dumbledore was perfect in his wise grandfather-Merlin-Gandalf persona, Alexandra had to give it to him. With his gold and blue wizard robes, his long white beard and his silver-like hairs, the head master was perhaps the closest think available of the old and wise wizard full of knowledge and proud to advise the younger generations of the mysteries and wonders of magic. Seeing Neville regaining colours and Professor McGonagall's anger dissipate, the performance was a great success. Leo Black and Seamus Finnigan were also looking at him with fascination and awe. She was sure that the two boys at this moment were ready to swear Dumbledore had vanquished the dragon himself with a single spell under their very eyes. Only Flitwick and herself seemed unaffected by the 'Merlin' persona. Alexandra was ready to bet both her and her head of House and herself were not going to set a foot inside the headmaster's office today. Their participation would not help the discussion go towards the 'proper path'.

Five seconds later, her suspicions were confirmed.

"I trust I can leave you to deal with dragon, Filius?" Said Dumbledore to Flitwick, staying behind as McGonagall left Longbottom, Black and Finnegan out of the corridor." The dragon handlers from the Norwegian reserve are due to arrive by eleven o'clock to recuperate Norbert and take him with them."

Well that answered the question if Dumbledore had known of the dragon existence beforehand. No matter the speed of the fastest magical transport, Alexandra had serious doubts dragon handlers from Norway dropped in the middle of Northern Scotland by coincidence at the end of April.

"Miss Potter will be happy to assist you, I do not doubt it," Added Dumbledore without even bothering to demand her point of view concerning the lizard. "But I would advise you my dear girl to not resort to death sentences as soon as you're under threat. Every life is precious in the grand scheme of existence."

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends." Alexandra whispered softly.

Dumbledore looked curiously indeed appreciative at that and walked away in a satisfied pace.

"Of course the next passage of _The Lord of the Rings_ is advising to be careful of traitors and unintended actions." Alexandra absently added to Professor Flitwick, who nodded in return.

Her teacher looked at the corridor in which Dumbledore had disappeared with a discouraged face. Personally, Alexandra was disgusted. The passage from Tolkien's book she had just quoted was an appeal of mercy, true. It was not a blank check for every beast with murderous intents to go away with violence and devastation. Else Gandalf and the rest of the Company would never have defeated thousands of Orks, a Balrog and some other monsters inhabiting the fantastic world of Middle Earth. By this sort of twisted logic, Alexandra would have to feel guilty and sad for the Dursleys because they were an evil family and tortured her. And this man was her magical guardian and the most powerful man of Britain? It certainly explained the deleterious state of the country, no?

"I don't really want to save the dragon, Professor. Can I go to the Astronomy tower and-"

Alexandra had no time to finish her question to the tiny teacher.

An exclamation "IT'S HERE!" came from the opposite corridor Dumbledore and his groups had arrived from. Alexandra found the voice familiar and she was right: ten seconds later, Draco Malfoy came in full view, quickly followed by Professor Snape, as well as Crabbe and Goyle.

"It is as I told you Professor!" Draco Malfoy seemed to be ready to dance, such was his excitement. "Scarhead and his band of blood-traitors have introduced a dragon at Hogwarts with the help of the stupid oaf!"

"Ten points from Slytherin for the inappropriate language, Mr Malfoy!" Said Flitwick in a disapproving tone.

Malfoy jumped in shock. It was evident he had not even bothered to take in consideration the presence of Flitwick and Alexandra, just the dragon. Terrible case of tunnel vision and a huge disadvantage for any duelling action. Not that his insults towards Hagrid and the Gryffindor were a novelty, although she had never heard the 'Scarhead' one before. Draco Malfoy had in all probability taken a long time to come with this insult. As for 'blood-traitors' it gave Alexandra the confirmation the Slytherin convictions in blood purity were well and truly kicking.

"Where are Longbottom and his group, Filius?" Asked Snape, a raw expression of triumph in his black eyes.

"The headmaster took them to his office, Severus." replied courteously the tiny professor.

"I see. Excellent. "Said Snape, barely containing himself to do his dark equivalent of gloating."Fifty points for Ravenclaw for intervening and discovering the rule-breaking. Fifty points from Gryffindor for the sheer stupidity of letting a baby dragon enter the grounds of Hogwarts. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to demand the expulsion of Longbottom and all those involved in this mess."

Snape left on that speech, his walk with his black billowing robes making him as usual look like a gigantic bat, with a blonde pureblood and two brutes on his heels following like well-trained dogs.

"Do you think he will manage to expulse Neville and his friends from Hogwarts, professor?" She asked in a hopeful voice.

"No." answered Flitwick in a firm tone, casting at the same time a series of spells. The dragon was liberated by the first charm from the weight of the armour and tried to escape but to no avail. The second spell tied the animal up with magical ropes, making it unable to use his wings, his fire breath and his claws. Then a sort of violet magical bubble appeared and trapped the animal inside. A silver magical cage then surrounded the prison making it fully secure. Impressive display of Charms, she had not even recognised one of the spells used.

Flitwick had noticed her interest, and laughed.

"Most of these spells are not that complicated for me, Miss Potter, but each of them is not taught before sixth-year. It's quite normal you haven't seen them before." Flitwick chuckled again then turned serious. "Mr Longbottom has committed a serious felony, there's no doubt about it. Dragon eggs and baby dragons are considered Class A non-tradable materials by the Ministry of magic. But Albus controls every punishment here at Hogwarts."

"Not the crimes?" Alexandra asked for confirmation, filing away the information for further inquiries and searches.

"Not the crimes. But it doesn't matter." Flitwick didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to.

Dumbledore was the only way for important news to get out off the castle. According to _Hogwarts: a History_ (and Hermione who communicated the information), the headmaster had an absolute control over the ancient wards of the castle and could choose at his leisure what type of information got out of Hogwarts and what stayed here. He was also the only one with direct access to the supreme authorities of the Ministry of Magic, including the Minister himself. Even cases like the dragon didn't change anything: with the professors having signed a contract to obey Dumbledore in school matters and the Golden Trio firmly on the 'Light side', it would be the words of Draco Malfoy and she against the Chief Warlock. Alexandra didn't need to see the future to know how it would end.

Thanking her Head of House, she continued her own way to the Astronomy tower, wondering what sort of idiocy had pushed the Gryffindors to try this stunt. Alexandra had not to wait long for the answer. The rumour mill of Hogwarts, as efficient as ever, spread truth and rumours at an impressive speed around the school. Discounting the most impossible ones like those pretending the Gryffindors had wanted to use a dragon to kill Snape or that Wood wanted the animal to 'motivate' his players for the next Quidditch match, a picture had begun to emerge in front of her eyes by dinner. If the most realistic version of events was right, the Keeper of Keys Hagrid had tried to breed a dragon. Neville Longbottom and his friends had tried to smuggle it on Saturday night for a party of dragon handlers from a Romanian reserve to take it away, but the plan had taken too much delay, as Ron Weasley had been bitten by the ferocious reptile. Norwegian Ridgebacks, this species of brown-skin dragon, had poisonous fangs and Weasley was confined to the Hospital Wing for the rest of the wing. After that, Longbottom, Black and Finnegan had been ambushed by Malfoy and his two gorillas, waking up the sleeping dragon and allowing it to escape in the maze of corridors. The end of the story, Alexandra knew it. She was one of the only ones, though, as Gryffindors and Slytherins did their best to darken the other House's reputation.

Malfoy and Longbottom reputation were literally inexistent by the end of the day. Between his accusations and his insults, Draco lost fifty House points again. The group of first-years Gryffindors had lost fifty too. Each participant save Alexandra in this little disaster had two weeks of detention. Slytherin and Gryffindor hourglasses in the entrance were now slightly ahead of zero. Barring divine intervention, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff were about to win the House Cup this year. So why wasn't she able to shake off this bad feeling that something horrible was about to happen?

 **30 April 1992, Hogsmeade, Scotland**

Summer had not yet arrived to this far-away part of Scotland, but on this warm day one could always believe the contrary. A few white cumuli were seen in the distance, but there was no sign of the grey and dark clouds of rain which had sent torrent of waters in March and early April on Scottish soil and made the levels of the Black Lake rose by several feet.

The fauna and flora had not been slow in adapting to these signs, and the hills around the wizarding town of Hogsmeade were bristling with the small noises of animals emerging from their slumbers and the choreography of thousands of flowers blooming at sunlight.

The two characters hidden under large and cumbersome robes did not give even a glance at this entertaining spectacle of renewal.

"The affair with the dragon could have gone better." Told in a conversational voice the figure dissimulated under black robes. The sentence had not the time to be finished, being quite rudely interrupted by the other figure present. "I was hoping-"

"It doesn't matter. The oaf told me what I needed to know."

Light red flashes coming from the violet robes punctuated the words where mercy and humour were totally absent. After a brief period of silence, a new affirmation came in an affirmation which tolerated no discussion.

"It's time we start our preparations for the Forbidden Corridor."

"I find your enthusiasm a bit too rapid for my taste." His interlocutor protested. "We have not a clue of what Dumbledore did to-"

The second interruption came, as dismissive and rude as the first.

"Do not question Lord Voldemort. Weakling." The tone of voice coming like a guttural rasp out of the violet robes was enough threatening to simulate a new Ice Age in the middle of the Sahara.

A twirl and the being hidden behind the violet robes disappeared magically from his position, leaving the other figure alone.

In the air, a laugh where little joy was present resonated in the spring sun.

"And I'm supposed trusting this thing to rob a Philosopher's Stone?"


	17. Exams are not the end

**Chapter 17**

 **Exams are not the end**

 **May 22 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

After the dragon episode which was the subject of the conversations for the next week, the events accelerated themselves in the magical school. May was coming, and with it the exams of the end of the year.

The positive side of this period was that despite the huge mountain of homework they had to do, the Gryffindor and Slytherin leaders were oddly silent. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback wasn't the only reason for that of course, but it was welcome all the same. Indeed, May was traditionally the period where the Lions and the Snakes took the backseat and let the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs compete for the best academic grades. Hermione was the only exception in Gryffindor, being in first place from nearly the beginning of the year and having never been dethroned by anyone. The rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were revising, Alexandra knew it by having seen Ron Weasley using the library to try to catch up his huge deficiencies in every class. But the boys and girls who had been the attention of the school the whole year by their pranks and various rule-breaking started to realise working one month of the school year wasn't enough to stay on top of the rankings. Even if a student had had previous tutoring like Neville Longbottom the Boy-Who-Lived. It did not stop Slytherin from inflicting a large defeat upon Hufflepuff on the Quidditch pitch 200 to 40, though.

In the mean time, in the Ravenclaw common room the masks of friendship were falling. Figuring at the top of the class was a moral imperative for any Ravenclaw, and it was a question of prestige for the fifth and seven years passing respectively their OWLS and NEWTS. Not that it was limited to the older students. Alexandra saw a second-year girl named Cho Chang throwing ink on the notes of her housemates, several sixth-years throwing compulsions charms in order for their challengers to forget to revise and seventh years enchanting parchments and others magical artefacts to erase any homework made by their rivals. Prefects and older students had not any spare time for the younger ones. Good will, cooperation and kindness were getting scarcer and scarcer. Even her year-mates were not spared. She had seen Stephen Cornfoot destroy several dozen Transfiguration notes belonging to Padma Patil, Antony Goldstein sabotaging several spells of Michael Corner by casting "Finite!" at the most inopportune times and Terry Boot cursing Morag MacDougal because the pure-blood girl had insisted she was going to finish below him in the final exam rankings. After the year she had just lived, Alexandra was not particularly proud to be a Ravenclaw. Where was the feeling of being part of a family that Professor McGonagall had loudly proclaimed before they were sorted in their Houses? Where were the friends and the unity she had read in her books of fantasy and science-fiction? House Ravenclaw, as far as she was aware, was no Fellowship of the Ring. The Ravens were more like a band of orks under Sauron, fighting each other as soon as there was no Dark Lord to put a little order in the formation. Not a funny comparison, but an accurate one in her opinion.

As far as the Potter Heiress was aware, she and Morag MacDougal had had the best marks of the first-years this year, and now that the final exams approached, the other boys and girls they were supposed to call 'housemates' were trying their best to improve their chances by illegal means. It was not a problem for Alexandra. The first time Antony Goldstein had tried to put a bottle of Weasley potions on her homework, the Heir of House Goldstein had been sent directly to the Hospital Wing with the warning next time she would not be so gentle. Morag MacDougal on the other hand, was taking the behaviour of a trapped animal, and in a certain fashion so did Parvati Patil and Su Li.

Fortunately for her mental sanity and the rest of the Ravens, the exams came on schedule in the middle of May. For the first years, who had only seven classes to pass (Flying was not a graded class to everyone's disappointment), the tests were in the late afternoon after every other year had finished. The temperature was as a result hellishly hot, at least compared to the usual warmth found in Northern Scotland. As for the exams, Alexandra impression of them was too easy. The written exams, in particular, were basically a sum up of everything they had seen in class during the year. No imagination or any creativity was required.

The practical exams were more advanced work, as the test was usually a spell which had been covered only in April or May and had to be demonstrated in a new way. For the first exam of Charms, they had to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them in Transfiguration turn a mouse into a snuff-box – points were given for how pretty the snuff-box was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Alexandra obtained a shining silver coloured one, but Hermione had been by far the best as her snuff-box was golden with a sapphire jewel. In Herbology, they had to recognise different species of mushrooms and fungus, classing the ones which were toxic and the ones who entered the composition of valuable potions. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, they had to demonstrate five low-level jinxes under Quirell eyes. Alexandra noticed many of her year-mates proved themselves unable to do so: with the dreadful teaching of Quirell and his inability ( or was it unwillingness?) to explain wand movements correctly, it was not a surprise but still a confirmation one of their most important classes had been utterly and completely sabotaged for the year. For Astronomy, the whole class had to complete a star chart at midnight. This exam was not so different from their 'normal' class.

The Potions exam was dreaded, for the simple reason Professor Snape's was present, his appearance of bat-like creature making everyone really nervous. The Forgetfulness Potion was the object of the exam, and during the hour and half that was necessary to brew the potion, many boys and girls forgot to take the elementary precaution of not breathing over the cauldron and as a consequence forgot crucial steps. Less than a dozen students managed to come up with the perfect pale white colour signalling success, and Hermione was the only Gryffindor who achieved it. Alexandra managed it too. Nigel unfortunately had missed a stir anti-clockwise and his cauldron contained afterwards a white-blue substance. It was still better than the livid green and the bright red obtained by Crabble and Goyle respectively, not to mention the putrid black slime Ron Weasley got.

The last exam was History of Magic, which for obvious reasons had no practical. One hour of questions on a few important wizards and witches who had been pioneers in cauldron inventions and the period of exams was over. So far, Alexandra judged it was the test where most of her classes of the year had proven irrelevant, as neither Binns nor Tiroflan (she would never qualify those two attractions as 'professors') had been interested in teaching them anything besides goblin rebellions and laziness. But when the ghost of Binns told everyone to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Alexandra couldn't help cheering with the rest of her year-mates.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione, as their trio joined the crowds flocking out the castle into the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learnt about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

"Only you, Hermione." Smiled Nigel. The shy Gryffindor was a lot more confident than he had arrived at Hogwarts, and if one forgot his score of Potions thorough the year in the final rankings, his performance would likely be more than average.

"You do not hear Alexandra complain." Replied Hermione. Alexandra rolled her eyes at that.

"It was only a definition in Charms, Hermione." The black-haired Ravenclaw smirked."I'm sure you will be the best of the class in all the other subjects. You don't have to worry, no one is going to take you the first place."

The brown-haired witch had such a big advantage in points over Alexandra before the first final exam started the name at the head of the ranking had never been in doubt.

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterwards, but Nigel and Alexandra politely and firmly told her they didn't need a headache right now. Instead, the two Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw wandered down to the lake and sat under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, servants of chaos as ever, were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid which was basking in the warm water.

How and why a wizard had amused himself to bring a giant squid was a mystery Hogwarts: A History had never been able to answer.

"So it's over for the year." Alexandra sighed happily. "One more week and we will know our grades. After that holidays!"

Which certainly wouldn't include the Dursleys, if Alexandra had a word to say in it.

"No more revision," approved Nigel."Not that you or Hermione needed them!"

Alexandra groaned. Saying these words in presence of Hermione Granger was not going to end well. Three. Two . One.

"Not revising? Are you mad? Have you an idea of how much books I read to prepare this History exam?"

Closing her eyes and trying to ignore the despaired look on Nigel's face, Alexandra cleared her mind and profited from the sun. After a few minutes, Hermione's rant stopped and she opened her eyes again. Nigel's face was frightened, and Hermione's had a certain similarity to Professor McGonagall. Evidently choosing to change the conversation for another subject, Nigel cleared his throat and spoke in his shy voice.

"What do you think Neville and the others are doing, running to Hagrid's hut like that?"

Alexandra turned her head, and effectively, saw the Boy-Who-Lived, followed by Leo Black, Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan, racing to the house of the Keeper of Keys. As they were the only five boys and girls not profiting from the pleasant summer conditions on the grass, their movements were not exactly subtle.

"No idea." Alexandra said. "Don't worry Nigel. Longbottom and his sidekicks have learnt with their pet dragon how a bad idea it was to break the rules. I really doubt they want to gain more detentions or lose more points, not with the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in three days."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled the auburn-haired pureblood. "It's not your House which loses points by the hundreds when the Golden Trio decides the rules of Hogwarts are not for them."

"Not my fault they were sorted in Gryffindor, isn't it?" quipped Alexandra.

"No," sighed Nigel. "Though I would like to ask what the Sorting Hat what he was thinking when he sorted them in our House."

"Once you've eliminated all the choices but one, what's left must obviously be the truth." declared Alexandra. Seeing Hermione raising her eyebrows, she had caught the reference.

"What's Sherlock Homes doing right here, Alex?" questioned the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

"We all assume the Sorting Hat is choosing the House where each boy and girl will thrive best in his or her seven years at Hogwarts" reasoned Alexandra. "But what if it isn't the case? What if the Hat first proceeds by elimination and only take the House left at the end?"

Hermione puffed indignantly.

"That's pure speculation!"

"But it would explain certain things, isn't it?" said pensively Nigel. At Hermione questioning look, he added. "Crabbe, Goyle, Weasley..."

"All persons who are truly lacking the qualities of their House. And all the other Founders prized qualities for that matter."

"And Neville?"

"I suppose it was Gryffindor or Slytherin for him." Alexandra said with black humour. "As no teacher wanted to have the Boy-Who-Lived murdered on his first day, they put him with the Lions."

"You're exaggerating again!" said Hermione in an aggravated tone.

"You're right." Conceded Alexandra.

Personally, Alexandra was sure Longbottom had been destined for Slytherin. Neville was courageous and noble...when it suited him, that much had become clear in all the months passed at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he was also arrogant to believe nobody would call him when he disregarded the rules. A feeling more than justified at the light of the last events. And when it came to prank someone, there was no nobility in his acts. Humiliating the students who were not in measure to retaliate was not exactly a chivalrous quality. The Boy-Who-Lived had however a certain cunning and the ambition to rule Gryffindor. It was not hard to see the similitude between him and the valued qualities of Slytherin House.

"Look!" Said Nigel. "They're coming back!"

Black and Longbottom running ahead, the group of five Gryffindor were effectively rushing in the direction of the castle doors from the hut of the Keeper of the Keys. Longbottom was speaking passionately about something to Black, with Seamus Finnegan and Lavender brown harbouring sombre expressions and Ron Weasley looking lost. Passing near their position, Alexandra was able to hear the words "Fluffy", "Forbidden Corridor", "music" and "dragon". Seeing Hermione and Nigel becoming livid, they had also heard enough to connect the dots.

"I retract my previous statement, Nigel." Alexandra tried without much success to sound calm. "Neville and his sidekicks are stupid enough to lose even more House points before the end of the year."

"Do you think...?"

"That they're going to explore the Forbidden Corridor this evening? There's a good chance they will."

"They are going to get killed!" Shrieked Hermione. "Or expelled!"

Alexandra face-palmed at that and seeing Nigel, she wasn't the only one. Sometimes she was forced to recognise Hermione's priorities were largely out of bounds.

"I don't think we will be so lucky, Hermione."

"It's not a joking matter, Alexandra!"

"No, it's not." she admitted. "But unless, I'm far off the mark, the Forbidden Corridor is not that really dangerous."

"What do you mean?"

Seemingly ignoring Hermione's question, Alexandra turned her head to look Nigel in the eyes.

"You're the one who knows the most about magical beasts, Nigel. If Dumbledore wanted really to kill someone, would he have used a Cerberus to guard the corridor?"

"No," replied Nigel, passing his hand in his hair with a frown. "A Cerberus will only attack if you're coming near the thing he protects. And unlike dragons or dementors, they're supposed to be really easy to tame when they are young." Nigel stopped at that, the two girls in front of him seeing the thoughts passing in his eyes. "Wait a minute, you're thinking this a test?"

"A trap or a test." Said Alexandra, sitting against the tree one foot away from her previous position on the grass. Not knowing the exact intricacies of what the Headmaster and the other Professors had realised their obstacles and the contingencies going on with them, all they could do was speculate.

"What should we do?" Asked Nigel. "Warn the professors?"

"Personally, I will do nothing." Alexandra affirmed. Before the surprised looks she added:

"Contrary to Neville, I can't afford to be caught near the Forbidden Corridor. As Hermione so justly proclaimed, I would be expelled on the spot." Hermione blushed at that. "My position in Ravenclaw also means I can't afford losing hundreds of House points, not when we're in first place."

Left unsaid was that if she did such a stupid thing, her housemates would not be slow in organising a new wave of assassination attempts, and this time the entire House would come to tear her apart. With her having gained the Philosopher Stone (or a very convincing fake) on her first passage there, going back was not only pointless but also risky: there was a high probability she would betray the fact she had already visited the area and in turn be denounced to the teaching staff. With only Flitwick to defend her, the consequences did not bear thinking about.

"I see your point." Said Hermione slowly. "But surely we can't let things happen doing nothing!"

"And why not?" The Potter Heiress asked curiously. Hermione stayed with her mouth open several seconds at that. Alexandra took the opportunity to continue. "Whatever sum your parents paid for Hogwarts, Hermione, wasn't to prevent the Golden Trio from meddling in things the Headmaster warned us to stay away from. If Longbottom and the others want to play the heroes let them. Anyway, Professor Dumbledore was here at lunch, so he will intervene if there is a problem."

"It's still not a very Gryffindor thing to do, sitting and doing nothing when the action is about to begin." Grumbled Nigel.

"So?" smirked Alexandra. "I'm a Ravenclaw, do you want to sue me?"

Laughter echoed on the grass and for once the two Gryffindors and the Ravenclaw forgot about everything concerning a Cerberus, the Philosopher Stone and the Forbidden Corridor. They discussed again for two more hours their plans for the holidays, then marched back to the castle as the hour for dinner approached. Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Alexandra remarked the absence of the Headmaster. Watching the Gryffindors first-years whispering between themselves, her bad feelings began to return. Not that her former arguments were not valid: if Longbottom was stupid to rush to "save" the Philosopher Stone, she was not going to be the one to stop him. With luck, the teachers would be intelligent and competent enough to stop this idiocy.

Sighing once more, Alexandra finished her meal and walked in the direction of the common room.

 **May 22 1992, Unknown Place**

The throne room had not changed much since the last meeting. It was still as huge, magnificent, opulent and pricelessly decorated. Several paintings and sculptures had been added.

The atmosphere however, was significantly different. The masked figures participating in this secret meeting were not worried, disappointed or scared like the last time.

They were utterly and completely terrified.

The reason of this general fear was sitting on the throne. The dark cloud surrounding the King of the Exchequer had nearly tripled in volume and in density, dispersing an aura of world's end and gloom no one in the room was immune. Small black lightning emerged from time to time from this very dark void, creating an odour of ozone after they dissipated.

Simple prudency had convinced eleven of the Knights and the Queen to take no less than twenty steps back from their original positions. All signs pointed to their leader about to unleash his wrath, and none were so stupid to be in the close vicinity when such an event was happening.

As a result, only one figure in light violet robes was left in range of the dark cloud, and by the small shivers agitating it, the figure was aware of the bad position nearing its actual location.

"Knight Alchemist, I must profess myself...disappointed." The guttural voice came out of nowhere like a nightmare. "You know I do not tolerate betrayal. And yet you did it anyway."

"Your Majesty. Surely..."

"Such a shame. When some of your colleagues came to me to tell they had suspicions of your treachery, I must admit I did not believe them. One of our senior members, conspiring with one of our sworn enemies of the Light? Preposterous!"

"I do not share your goals anymore." Somehow the protestation did not impress the darkness on the throne. A dark chuckle resonated.

"You have served in the ranks of the Exchequer for three centuries. The moment is ill-chosen to have cold feet, Nicolas Flamel!"

The famous Alchemist paused a second before replying.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I am a coward. But I have morals, and I have taken steps to ensure the humans of this world will have a chance against you when the time comes."

"By steps, I presume you speak of letting a Philosopher's Stone fall into the esteemed Albus Dumbledore's hand?"

A nod of approval was answer enough.

"In that case, I find your plans are going to be dangerously...incomplete. Dumbledore is no match for me."

"We will see..."

"I will. You won't." The voice of the King turned meditative. "I assume there's no chance to convince you to peacefully surrender and participate in some of our most horrible experiments?"

"Indeed not. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

One second had been all that was necessary for the Knight Alchemist to draw his wand under the heavy robes he wore. One more second, and the most lethal spell ever created by wizardkind was hurled at the figure on the throne. For the beings assisted to the scene there was barely any time to react before a striking pale green bolt of energy materialised and rushed towards the leader of the Exchequer.

Avada Kedavra was the third Unforgiveable. Instant Death. Powerful Dark Magic. Impossible to shield, deflect or reverse.

The dark figure on the throne raised one hand and made the deadly incantation disappear in the darkness surrounding it like a black mantle.

"You wish to kill me, Knight Alchemist?" Asked the King, clearly gloating of his former subordinate's monumental stupefaction and the dark clouds expanded again. "This is an...annoyance. Every creature or wizard who tried in the last couple of millennia has failed."

Then a sinister murmur like a funeral melody sounded. With absolutely no warning, a halo of pure night surrounded Nicolas Flamel, hiding it from the rest of the world.

Twelve of the observers flinched, in spite of their relative experience in matters of torture and carnage, when the screams of their former colleague arrived to their ears. After approximately two minutes of this treatment, the globe retracted and nullified, letting the body of a blonde-haired man covered with black burns, robes in tatters and marks of self-mutilation appear and fall on the cold floor lifelessly.

"So die all traitors." Grumbled the King, with an obvious hint of satisfaction to his voice. "Knight Summoner, Knight Informer."

"Yes, Your Majesty?" The voice of the beings were very determined all a sudden.

"The betrayal of Knight Alchemist is going to force us to abandon our plans for the British Isles and the goblins for the time being. Deal with the problems at Brise-Roc and Hogwarts. Leave no traces of our involvement and no witnesses. Take Flamel's body and pass his death as a burglary which has turned badly."

"Yes, your Majesty. The Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort?" Asked the being in red robes.

"Let the Chief Warlock have his little victory and keep the Stone for the time being. I'm sure he will realise the default of this artefact soon enough. The wraith will keep most of Dumbledore's attention for years to come."

 **May 23 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"THEY DID WHAT?"

Alexandra's shout had certainly alerted half of Ravenclaw tower. Not that she did care. In front of her Nigel, her poor friend who had just paid the brunt of her anger. Surprisingly, he was looking her straight in the eyes, shaking but still firmly standing in ground.

"Neville and half of the Gryffindors first-years went to the forbidden Gryffindor. They think Snape is about to steal the Philosopher Stone of Nicholas Flamel." Repeated Nigel. "They brought Hermione with them, they forced her, Alex!"

"By all the powers of the War of the Wrath..." Swore Alexandra, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, Nigel. I shouldn't have shouted on you."

When the picture in the Ravenclaw Common Room had interrupted her night reading to affirm her Gryffindor friend was outside asking for her help; the green-eyed girl had believed it was a poor joke.

Curfew was not informed since the end of the exams, but the teachers were not exactly happy with those walking in the corridors at the light of the moon. Not to mention, it was very late, in fact one quarter of an hour later and Alexandra would have gone to sleep too. But this book on the legend of Merlin had been captivating...

"I understand." Reassured Nigel with a small smile. Smile which disappeared the moment after. "What do we do? If Snape is after the Stone..."

"Snape is not after the Stone, Nigel. It's Quirell."

Her friend looked about to object, but Alexandra swept his objection with a gesture of the hand.

"Yes, yes. I know that all the Gryffindors are convinced it's Snape. Not that it matters. Both Quirell and Snape are dangerous enough to crush half a dozen first-years if they want to do it."

"Do we go help them or do we go search for a Professor?"

"How much time do you think you were immobilised by the Petrificus Totalus of Leo Black?"

Nigel frowned."Twenty minutes or so."

"Then we go. I don't care what happens to Longbottom and his lackeys, but if they have Hermione... Run!"

The first-year Ravenclaw girl and the first-year Gryffindor boy began their sprint towards the third floor. As it was one o'clock in the morning, the patrols of the prefects and the ghosts were non-existent, a very good thing as their sprint was the very opposite of subtle and silent.

In ten minutes they managed to reach the Forbidden Corridor without being noticed. Charging through the stairs that separated them from the Cerberus, the duo was forced to stop. A man was standing in front of the forbidden door, and it was neither Snape nor Quirell.

It was Devkins, the Junior Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Professor!" Shouted happily Nigel. "Neville and the rest of my housemates are..."

"No." Abruptly cut him the Potter Heiress. "He intends to steal the Stone too."

"Very good Miss Potter." Said Devkins in an humorous tone. "What gave me away?"

"For a man who forgets everything, your office and your affairs are always impeccably classed. You should have kept them a bit out of order, should a student break in to verify if your incompetence was all an act."Alexandra admitted. "You also participated in this travesty with Quirell on Halloween night."

"Observant as always." Said calmly Devkins. "I should have known the Weasley Twins couldn't be responsible for all this paint. And have you managed to discover for you I'm working for?"

"I've managed to narrow it to Nicolas Flamel or a potential Dark Lord. Nothing else makes sense."

Devkins clapped away slowly, his face for the first time reflecting a bit of admiration.

"Bravo, Miss Potter. Excellent deductions. Although I'm afraid I can't let you walk away right now."

"Because you intend to ambush whoever comes out of the corridor and steal the Philosopher Stone?" Alexandra asked in a semi-inquisitive tone, taking into account her potential opponent. Devkins had the same look and was wearing the same type of robes shown all year, the only difference was a small pendant worn around his neck emitting a sort of black light. Looking at it, it looked to be a pawn of a chess game, surrounded by a crown of flames. Strange.

"I prefer to think it is a legitimate restitution of propriety." Affirmed the Junior Professor of DADA. "My superiors weren't happy when one of the Stones was stolen from the goblin fortress of Brise-Roc by the Order of the Phoenix."

Alexandra widened her eyes. So Dumbledore had really stolen the Philosopher Stone from Flamel! So much for the integrity and the nobility of the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Unfortunately," continued calmly Devkins "I intend to be far away when Dumbledore will notice he has been robbed. And you know a bit too much for your own good, Miss Potter. I'm rather afraid I will have to deal with you in a permanent manner. Any last words?"

Not leaving her eyes from the DADA professor, Alexandra talked to Nigel, who had stayed just behind to her left.

"Nigel, run, find Flitwick and bring him back. I am going to need him here."

"You can't fight a professor alone!" protested Nigel. "I must stay with you!"

"All I need is to hold him as long as possible." Alexandra reminded him. "Now go!"

Nigel ran like a legion of hell was at his pursuit.

"Incarcerous!" Casted Devkins, in direction of the fleeing Gryffindor, but Alexandra shouted a rapid "Flipendo!" who diverted the ray of light far enough to bounce harmlessly against the wall.

"You think you can delay me long enough for your friend to bring back your Head of House, Miss Potter?" Asked calmly Devkins.

"I will never know if I don't try." replied Alexandra.

"Very well." Devkins was sporting now an interested smile. "But I should make you remark I am more dangerous than the mountain troll or the baby dragon supplied by Quirinus. And anyway, my defeat or my very probable victory will not be of any importance. The true order is going to come back and cover this earth in darkness."

"Aure entuluva!" Replied Alexandra drawling out her wand and taking a fighting stance "Day will come again!"

"Pestilentia Interficio!" A ray of sickly yellow spurted from the professor's wand and struck the position where Alexandra had been a moment before. The green-eyed Ravenclaw had had only the time to jump back, and it had been apparently a marvellous idea: the floor was now looking cracked, with a pale yellow cloud rapidly dissipating over it. Acid. Fantastic.

"Malevolus Lupus!" A black wolf formed of grey pale flames was conjured, which on Devkins order jumped to devour her. Using Flitwick teachings, she evaded the attack with pure speed and used a powerful Flipendo to send it in a free fall from the corridor, hoping this magical creation could not resist a fall from three floors.

Devkins did not look at all discouraged from the failure of his two first spells. As far as Alexandra could judge, it motivated him. Dark spells succeeded to dark spells. Most of the spells that flew in her direction were completely unknown to Alexandra, forcing her to dodge, jump throw spells to divert their trajectory or outright running away to be sure she wasn't there when one revealed to have 'special' effects. The frequency of each spell also increased after each miss. Alexandra was suspecting more and more the man in front of her was playing with her.

Despite the young witch duels all with Flitwick over the year, there was simply a gap of power, knowledge and experience between her and Devkins she could not match. Her knowledge on magical shields was non-existent, forcing the eleven-year old to deflect in one manner or another everything which came her way. Alexandra was getting tired and she had not still had a single opportunity to retaliate, never mind hit him.

What was worse what the fact she absolutely didn't master the environment around her. The stairs which had brought her to the Forbidden Corridor and allowed Nigel to escape were gone, courtesy of the hazardous nature of Hogwarts, so retreat was not an option. The entrance of the corridor was also not very large and there were no places or statues to hide behind in case she felt the need. It was a simple corridor, with nothing to throw at her opponent, no kind of advantage she had benefitted in her fights against her fellow students, the dragon or the troll. Alexandra was forced to admit internally she was outclassed in every way.

"Maleficus Dens!"This time she was able to correctly anticipate the spell and the livid blue spell passed harmlessly to her right. Seizing the occasion with both hands, Alexandra screamed "LUMOS!", illuminating the corridor in a stunning flash of light.

Opening her yes, she sent an overpowered Cutting Charm and two other nasty hexes at Devkins, hoping the spell had blind him long enough for her to take advantage.

Her hopes were in vain. The Junior DADA professor had not anticipated her attack, judging by his red and bleeding eyes, but he had had the reflex to cast a blue-red glimmering shield immediately after. Alexandra three spells impacted the magical protection, which didn't seem to even register the assault. Damn.

Seeing the angered face of the enemy duellist, the Potter Heiress had the sudden and unpleasant realisation she had at least managed to make him furious. Devkins looked at her with a look of pure hate and Alexandra knew she had achieved the minor victory of letting her former Professor go at full power.

"Ignis Obscurus!"

Despite the impressive amount of what she supposed had been very Dark Magic thrown at her, Alexandra was caught off-guard by the magnitude and the power of the spell which manifested into reality. In the short instant she had to observe the spell, it was like a tornado of black flames had been created and was advancing towards her burning the very air she breathed.

Nothing she casted with her wand was about to stop it. The two water-based spells she knew were simply swatted away like flies. Finite Incantatem disappeared once in contact. The basic counter-curses had no effect. Alexandra was forced to quickly retreat to the extremity of the corridor, and even that did not afford her a lot of time, as the black flames rushed in her direction with a speed which was terribly frightening.

Figuring she had at most ten seconds before she was a roasted Ravenclaw, Alexandra did something completely suicidal by her own standards. Cutting one part of the railing with a powerful Diffindo, she levitated the stone over the void where the stars should have been and jumped on it, praying her magic was strong enough to carry her own weight.

The dark light behind her told Alexandra she had made the good choice. Her last position before she jumped was now engulfed in the inferno of dark magic. Not that her new situation was really that much an improvement. She was now on a levitating stone, standing very very high over... nothing. She could not dodge or evade any spell coming at her. Devkins had only to wait right now for her the stone to fall and she was doomed.

Thankfully, her opponent didn't think she had managed to evade the spell and cancelled his deadly fire incantation. Just in time too: the stone she was upon was showing imminent signs of falling. Knowing she had only one chance before her enemy threw her another unstoppable assault, Alexandra rolled on the floor before her and shouted a powerful "BOMBARDA!" with all the power she had left in her at the ceiling.

Devkins's horrified face, appearing just as the leftovers of the black fire dissipated, was priceless when the ceiling began to explode over his head. Time almost stopped for Alexandra at that moment. The Ravenclaw had no idea if Devkins had the opportunity to acknowledge his demise and the fact he was not going to be powerful to stop the collapse of a part of the Hogwarts wing, and she would never will. But the man screamed a last incantation "MORTALIS NOX!" before a huge rock fell and bashed his skull like an overgrown fruit.

Alexandra had no time to rejoice. The dark coloured curse sent by the now dead professor was impossibly fast and she was too slow to dodge. The only thing she had time to do before it hit was raising her right hand. One second, the black-haired witch thought she had seen a golden light protect her arm before the black curse struck it. After that, she had far more imminent problems. Such was the power of the incantation Alexandra was slammed into the corridor's walls, and the shock took out all the air in her lungs in one second. Pain erupted in all the muscles and bones of her body, especially in her back and her legs. The young witch tried to move from her position against the wall, but only managed to collapse on her face and stomach, the after-effects of the incantation paralysing her. The pain was growing progressively unbearable.

"This is not how victory is supposed to taste..." The Potter Heiress whispered.

Closing her livid green eyes, Alexandra let darkness claim her.


	18. The Reign of Injustice

**Chapter 18**

 **The Reign of Injustice**

 **May 25 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Pain. Unrelenting, eternal pain. That was all Alexandra felt when she regained consciousness. Her body felt like she had been bathed in a torrent flames in the dungeons of Barad-Dûr. She groaned in pain, trying to move, but her arms and legs refused to answer. Turning her head, she saw white walls and a white ceiling all around her. The green-eyed witch groaned. Unless she missed something, for the second time of her time at the magical school Alexandra had been transported to the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts unconscious.

After several seconds passing grunting and mobilising her energy, the Ravenclaw first-year managed to make her arms and her legs answer, allowing her to move in a better position on the bed she was currently lying on, confirming this was indeed the main room of the Hospital Wing. That was the extent of the good news. Seeing her right arm bandaged and immobilised in front of her, the memories of her taking a midnight-coloured curse in her right palm did not seem ridiculous after all. Nor was the fact she had broken curfew to save Hermione and a few moronic Gryffindors. In the bed in front of her, Lavender Brown was lying unconscious. By the looks of the bandages on her body, the gossip queen of the Lions had had her arms and legs smashed after a fall. Certainly the work of the flying keys in the trial of Flitwick.

Next to Lavender was Seamus Finnigan, who by his near-carbonised looks, appeared to have been caught in an explosion of epic proportions. A big one, for the Gryffindor to show such burns with his extraordinary precedents during the year. His hair were also worthy of the style 'mad scientist'. Finnigan was unconscious, although the Irish boy was groaning at irregular intervals "not the snare, not the snare" in his sleep. No need to be a genius to know the pyromaniac had tried to burn the Devil Snare only to nearly cook himself in the process.

Alexandra position at the end of the infirmary didn't allow her to see if others first-years were present too. She really hoped not, as it meant more persons had been seriously wounded, but in her heart she was sure the contrary was true. The two rooms where Seamus and Lavender had been in all likelihood hurt had not really been challenging for her on December 31 (or January 1 if one wanted to be accurate). Chances were very high someone had been injured fighting the mountain troll, drunk the wrong bottle and poisoned himself or been crushed by the weapon of an animated chessman. Alexandra just hoped it was not Hermione. The others Gryffindors were unimportant, her first friend was not.

Just as she was imagining all the possible injuries and damages the Golden Trio and the rest of the first-years may have encountered on their stupid quest, someone spoke to her left.

"Good afternoon, Neville."

It was the voice of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Alexandra turned her head, but the view to the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived was sadly blocked by white sheet and white panels, letting only their shadows appear in a corner at the other side of the infirmary.

After a moment, the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived, well-alive, exclaimed:

"Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick –"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," affirmed Dumbledore in his best grandfather-noble and powerful wizard voice. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

The voice of her magical guardian had been without worry or anything approaching it. Alexandra grimaced. She had often wondered in the last months if the Stone placed in this infernal mirror had been a fake. Well, now she had a clue about the answer.

"Then who does? Sir, I –"

"Neville, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Judging by the silence which followed, Longbottom was evaluating where he was. It must have been near a pile of presents from fans and admirers, because the happy voice of the Professor explained shortly after that these were "Tokens from your friends and your admirers."

The headmaster continued in this cheerful and beaming voice, like if waking up in the infirmary after being unconscious was no big deal.

"What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

No surprise there, the Hogwarts rumour mill was terribly efficient and there had been too many witnesses.

"I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr Ronald Weasley and Mr Leo Black will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone –"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from the mirror, you broke the Erised in your fall. I arrived in time to prevent further damage, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Leo's owl?"

"We must have crossed in mid-air. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you –"

That was one of the lamest excuses Alexandra had ever heard, and she had been forced to hear the ones of a certain Dudley Dursley during ten years. It was not quite to the level of 'Alexandra distracted me at the evaluation and that's why I have a bad mark, not because I passed my time playing video games', but it was coming close.

But Neville had not evidently noticed this poorly disguised lie, and simply answered.

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the mirror and the Stone much longer –"

"Not the Stone, boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed with the mirror."

Alexandra breathed in relief. No one had managed to examine the mirror for a long period of time, and so everyone believed the Stone was gone forever. Her actions had passed unnoticed. So far, so good.

"Destroyed?" said Neville in a distressed tone. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel –"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" Asked Dumbledore, sounding quite happy the Boy-Who-Lived had discovered the link with the Alchemist, like if not an average wizard could not have done the same in two minutes.

"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best."

That, for her, sounded like a second very poor lie. If the Junior Professor of DADA had said the truth, Dumbledore and Flamel were not likely to talk to each others for the next decade. Not unless the conversation also included insults and lethal curses. Destroying an object which granted immortality and ridiculous wealth was more or less the equivalent of magical sacrilege. The books she had read during her free time and discussions with Professor Flitwick had told her that much. Even if Flamel had created dozens of Stones in six hundred years of existence, she rather doubted having one destroyed was going to fill him with joy and gratitude.

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

 _Or hunt you to the end of the world and dance on your grave_ , Alexandra thought. Still, it was possible Dumbledore would survive Flamel's wrath. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore could refugee himself behind the powerful wards of the school. But as the incident with the troll and the baby dragon had proven, no fortification was really perfect when magic was involved.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them."

Alexandra briefly asked herself if the Professor had been slammed against the walls too much when he was a child. While his speech was very much correct for a man as old as he, for children like Neville or herself it was completely stupid. In her own case, ten years at the Dursleys had shown her what lack of money could do: starvation, hunger, beatings and a lot of unpleasant things. This was not resisting to the lure of Sauron's Ring of Power; even Frodo and Sam enjoyed having good meals, a home upon their head and friends to joke with at the end of the day.

"Sir?" Demanded Neville in a hesitant tone. Evidently this words had put him as ill-at-ease as she was. "I've been thinking …Quirell said he had an accomplice in the castle, Sir, and-"

"The accomplice has been dealt with, Neville. Professor Devkins will not be a problem anymore." Said Albus Dumbledore in a soft tone.

 _But not thanks to you_ , thought Alexandra with rancour. By the looks of it, either the Headmaster or Neville Longbottom had dealt with Quirell. However, it was Alexandra who had been forced Devkins in a magical duel, and she couldn't see the Headmaster arriving in time to save the Boy-Who-Lived by not passing near her little altercation with the DADA teacher. The fight had taken place in front of the only entrance. Dumbledore should have done the job himself if rumours of his skills had even a fraction of truth in reality.

"– even if the Stone's gone, Vol– … I mean, You-Know-Who –"

The rest of the discussion was immediately muffed, preventing her to hear one more word on what the Professor and the Gryffindor first-year boy discussed. Alexandra frowned.

The Headmaster had told himself everyone at Hogwarts knew everything of the events having happened in the Forbidden Corridor.

 _Or_ , a little voice whispered in her head, _everything that has supposedly happened_.

And what was this question about Who-Know-Who? The Dark Lord Voldemort had been dead and buried for over a decade. Maybe Quirell had been one of his former partisans? But no, the Senior Professor of DADA had been a thirty-plus years old wizard, too young for having participated in the last war...

After a couple of minutes where only muffled sounds were heard from the rest of the room, Alexandra listened the voice of Neville again, and the boy had seemingly been broken by emotion.

"And the Invisibility Cloak – do you know who sent it to me?"

On her bed, the Ravenclaw black-haired girl saw her attention returning rapidly. An invisibility cloak? Since her accountant had told her one had disappeared from her vaults, the Potter Heiress had looked on the subject. These were not exactly unique items, but they were very expensive. Close to five or six hundred Galleons piece depending on the number of enchantments you wanted on it. A few Cloaks went the double of these sums in gold, when a wizard or a witch wanted to really have the next best thing to complete stealth and invisibility.

"Ah – one member of my Order happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things … the previous owner used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

 _How typical of Dumbledore_ , thought Alexandra with grumpiness. Offering a present like that to the Boy-Who-Lived did not reek of favouritism, no Sir.

"And there's something else …"

"Fire away."

"How was it possible to get the Stone out of the Mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life."

Alexandra had to retain a loud burst of laughter. The Supreme Mugwump had really a high opinion of himself! Personally once known the secret looked utterly silly.

"My brain surprises even me sometimes … Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

The noise of the golden-brown bean popping into his mouth was heard. Then Albus Dumbledore choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

And the conversation ended with that. As the headmaster left the infirmary, Alexandra feigned to sleep. After what she had heard in this last conversation, Alexandra was not sure she could stop looking disgusted if she looked the man in the eyes. Better give the illusion of sleeping, and prepare for some excuses when the moment of confrontation would come with one member of the teaching staff.

The rest of the day was after that marked by Ron Weasley and Leo Black bursting into the infirmary for a bit more than the five minutes Madam Pomfrey had given her authorization. The three boys didn't bother speaking in a low tone, and she learnt to her great relief that apparently everyone who had been involved that night was about to recuperate all their physical abilities. Seamus had been burnt by his own explosion fighting the Devil Snare's, Lavender had crashed in a wall, catching the silver flying key, but these had been the worst injuries in the Lion's pride. Ronald Weasley had played the party of chess (though Dean and Ron had apparently being forced to sacrifice themselves to win), Leo black had been the one to vanquish the troll and Hermione had solved the potions riddle in twenty seconds top. The thing really weird was after that the conversation was part-garbled, part-muffled. Impossible to know the exact sequence of events in the Mirror room.

Oh, and Ravenclaw had apparently beaten soundly Gryffindor, which meant her House had won the Quidditch Cup and that she had stayed more than three days unconscious. Alexandra hadn't thought her wounds were that bad. Not for the first time of the year, the raven-haired witch felt very cold at the idea how close she had come from death.

 **May 26 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The day after, Alexandra had finally her first visitor all for her in the person of Professor Flitwick. Neville Longbottom, of course, had had in the mean time several dozen admirers to enquire on his health since the morning, making Madam Pomfrey of a massacring humour.

Even as a former duellist champion, her Head of House put a low profile in front of the angry nurse which had decided to channel the personality of a full-grown dragon for now.

"Good afternoon, Miss Potter." Said Flitwick in a respectful tone where almost none of his usual good humour was present. "I am pleased to see that despite the pessimistic assurances of the two Saint Mungo's healers which came to inspect you, you remain perfectly alive and in good health."

Alexandra couldn't stop a half-frown half-grimace at that.

"Was it that bad?"

Flitwick emitted a loud sigh, his shoulders slightly lowering.

"To be quite honest, you should be dead, Miss Potter."

Alexandra widened her eyes. That was not what she had expected to hear.

"How?" The Ravenclaw student said slowly. "I remind only being hit by one curse at the end, and Devkins didn't use one of the lethal incantations banned by the Ministry of Magic in 1902."

"Reading a bit in the law section, do we?" Asked rhetorically the small half-goblin, while Alexandra tried to her best, without much success, to appear as innocent and virtuous as possible.

"Just keeping myself informed." Alexandra grumbled.

"For your personal information," continued her Head of House in his teacher mode, "we examined Devkins wand, and I believe you were hit by the Sovereign Curse of Darkness, also known as Merlin's Bane or the Magic Reaper."

"Big names." Alexandra remarked, not overly impressed. Some of the wizards who invented the spells had an overblown ego. "What are its effects?"

"It devours your magical core, Miss Potter." Told Flitwick in a voice where there was no amusement of any sort. "It can also do irreparable damage to your soul if given enough time. All the while, the victim suffers a physical and mental torture which makes most of the dark torture spells in existence looks tame. The sole counter-curse is so long to cast it fails half of the time, few shields are able to protect someone for more than an instant. It is one of the vilest curses in existence."

"Great." Alexandra stated in a sarcastic tone. "And the reason this spell isn't on the banned list of spell is because?"

"It was supposed to be lost to wizardkind." Replied the retired champion duellist. "Devkins," his voice was full of venom, "using it is the first instance recorded someone casting this spell in the last five centuries in Great Britain."

"How could such a spell be lost if it was so powerful?" Asked Alexandra in an incredulous voice.

"It was invented by Morgana La Fay." replied simply Flitwick as it explained everything.

"This is the curse which destroyed Merlin, isn't it?" Alexandra demanded after a moment of silence, the clues finally adding mutually in her head. "You called it Merlin' Bane, so..."

The Ravenclaw Professor smiled in approval. "According to the legend, it is. However the full effects of the spell and its most detailed characteristics have been lost long ago. Frankly, most of what we know today about this curse are rumours, speculations and guesses. After the death of Morgana and her Dark supporters, all traces of this spell and many were erased forever. For good reasons I might add."

"Until today."

"Until today." Repeated Flitwick with a disabused nod."You were incredibly lucky, Miss Potter. The diagnosis of the healers who studied your arm is that your opponent had not the time to fully empower his attack before you killed him."

The eleven-year old girl did not answer. Alexandra really didn't feel like explaining Devkins had not missed the mark with his last spell. She should be dead, if not for the golden light which had protected her. The Golden Light having touched her from her experience with the Mirror of Erised. But that left of course more questions...

"Remind me to never underestimate you with a Bombarda by the way." Added the Charms Master.

"I had not the choice." Alexandra said, a bit defensively. The young witch had not forgotten her Head of House had defended her to use the spell save emergencies. "I didn't want to kill him."

"Good." Flitwick said in an approving voice. "I agree circumstances force your hand, but you shouldn't make a habit of it. The Headmaster won't always bury the affair." The former Duellist Champion cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief before speaking again.

"And let's pray you don't have any opportunity in your life to use it anymore." His posture and tone were hesitant at the end, almost as he didn't believe his own words. No doubt the series of assassination attempts, duels and magic ambushes at Hogwarts this year didn't plead in favour of a calm outcome for the short-term future.

"My arm?" Alexandra asked, choosing to return on a safer topic.

"You will recover the full use of it by the end of the week, though I must advise you to be careful. You have still traces of dark magic on it, and any reaction to a similar power in the days to come could have ... unpredictable effects."

"So better limit my practise of magic for the next days and no abuse of my right arm?" At the nod of her professor, she breathed in relief. It could have been worse, Alexandra thought. She was left-handed, so not using her right hand for the moment would not cause major problems.

That still left the question of where and when the Junior Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts had found such a dangerous and ancient curse, but she had the feeling Flitwick was as ignorant as her in that particular subject. The only man who could have answered was dead by her hands.

Rising from the chair he was sitting on, her Head of House wished her a prompt reestablishment, although wishing she avoided to create as much trouble for the next year.

The next visitors were Hermione and Nigel. Instantly, the brown-haired witch raced on her and hugged Alexandra.

"I'm so sorry, Alex..." Sobbed the bushy-haired girl.

"Hey, I'm okay..." Protested Alexandra weakly. "Really. I'm fine Hermione."

"No, you're not." Declared the uncontested academic leader of the first-years. "You look really horrible."

Alexandra had a sudden urge to face-palm. Trust Hermione in critical moments to be as blunt as possible.

"Okay, I'm not. But I will be better." It was the truth. The pain had almost disappeared and she could stand on her own. Running might be out of the question for a few days, but walking should be okay.

"Do you want a detailed account of what happened in the Corridor?" Demanded Nigel on the other side of the bed, looking deeply relieved.

Alexandra declined with a negative nod.

"No, thanks. Black and Weasley came before you, thus I had a very loud and detailed report of what happened to your group. Unless you know what happened in the room with the Mirror..."

"Unfortunately not." Sighed Nigel. Then his smile turned...satisfied? "But did the Golden Trio told you what happened to their dorms?"

"What happened?" The Potter Heiress raised an eyebrow. "The Weasley Twins built altars for the sheer number of rules they have just broken?"

"No, but it would have been funny if they did. No, Hermione demolished the boy dorms with mucus, spell fire and a lot of spells I'm pretty sure are not in the first-year books."

Alexandra stared open-mouthed for a moment, believing her ears were playing a joke.

"How in the name of-"

"They pointed a wand in front of my eyes." Commented Hermione in a tone terribly vindictive. "Thanks to the action of this bad of imbeciles, we could all have died. They deserved what they got."

"I appreciate the gesture..." Alexandra smiled." But won't you have to purge a lot of detentions for that?"

"Nope." The grin was similar to the one of a big cat having just swallowed the canary.

"How weren't you punished for that?"

"Professor Snape arrived first on site; Professor McGonagall was busy with the Corridor issues. He said it improved the decoration if anything."

"Naturally." Trust the Head of Slytherin to sow discord and hammer Gryffindor House when it was possible.

A weak pain chose this moment to make her right arm twitch again.

"Are you sure you're right?" Asked Hermione compassionately.

"No. I killed someone and I will have his last moments in my head for a long time." The Ravenclaw black-haired witch told her friends.

"Sorry..."

"It's not your fault Nigel. If you had stayed, the Professors wouldn't have been alerted, and Devkins would have possibly taken at least one of us."

"But now you killed someone."

"Now I murdered someone." Corrected Alexandra. "There is blood on my hands now, Hermione. I'm only eleven, and I've already a body-count. How long until it lies on my heart?"

Her friends had no answer to this. Alexandra had not expected them to, not when she had no start on the answers herself.

Nigel and Hermione talked a bit further, then they had to depart for lunch. The young witch watched them depart with silent thanks for their support and their care.

Then the pain in her right arm woke up again, and a sleeping potion given by Madam Pomfrey sent her back in the lands of dreams.

 **May 28 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

After two more nights of sleep and one boring day spent in the infirmary, Alexandra felt almost back in her best form. Almost. Her right hand was still sending her a great deal of pain at irregular intervals, no doubt courtesy of the dark magic which was purged by her system, but she was bored enough to begin plans to escape the Hospital Wing. Hermione and Nigel's visit had been the only noteworthy event yesterday, and having Hermione hugging her again, all the while saying how she was happy Alexandra had not died, had been one thing she was not accustomed to. For as long as she remembered, no one had cared if she lived or she died. Now, she had friends. It was definitely a new and pleasant experience. However, hearing Hagrid speaking to Neville and crying about how the gamekeeper had given the clues to Quirell had been a moral-breaker, and she had been forced to lower her estimates of Quirell's intelligence as he had needed the Keeper of Keys help to pass the Cerberus Trial.

"I want to go to the feast," Alexandra told Madam Pomfrey as she rose in her bed. "I can, can't I?" she added in a hopeful tone.

'Professor Flitwick gave you authorisation to go." The nurse said with a disdainful sniff, as though in her opinion the Ravenclaw House didn't realise how good health could be precious. His past of duellist champion was not playing in Flitwick's favour, Alexandra was ready to bet.

Still, when Alexandra left the infirmary, she was alone and had still her right hand kept in bandages, while her right arm was finally freed. There was no mark or any magical indication she had been hit with a lethal curse, although she could not see her right hand and she thought her skin was quite bit paler than it used to.

Now, however, she had to hurry up.

She was awfully late by her standards, as she had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing-about, insisting on giving him one last check-up, so the corridors were nearly empty while she proceeded to the Great Hall. On the other hand, it was enough to see the effects of Dumbledore "nothing is secret policy": the few students who met her ran in the other direction immediately. Including the Gryffindors. Forcing herself to breath loudly and not erupt in anger at the general stupidity of the average Hogwarts student, Alexandra entered the Great Hall.

It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze to celebrate Ravenclaw's winning the House Cup and so breaking Slytherin's record of six successive victories. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw eagle covered the wall behind the High Table, and smaller ones floated magically above the head of the students.

When Alexandra walked in there was a sudden hush and a lot of whispers began with half of the school looking at her or pointing fingers in her general direction. To her relief, it didn't last, as Neville Longbottom entered the Great Hall just after her and was greeted by the general applaud of the Lions, the noise produced drowning all the conversations going on. Taking her place between two third-years girls, she saw Nigel and Hermione being uncomfortably pushed away from the places at the centre of the Gryffindor table, Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio monopolising all the attention. Alexandra felt disgusted once again by this self-interested attitude and the hurricane of shouts mounting from the Gryffindors. Seriously, what sort of manners did they have in their common room? Perhaps Hermione had had the good attitude to thrash their dorms.

Thankfully, Headmaster Dumbledore arrived moments later, the Head Table was filled of all the surviving Professors, and silence gradually fell in the massive Hall.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts …"

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with one hundred and five points; in third, Slytherin, with two hundred and twenty-six; Hufflepuff has four hundred and eighty-nine; and Ravenclaw, six hundred and three."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Ravenclaw table. With their victory in the Quidditch Cup this year, the victory of the House Cup gave the Ravens the two trophies in competition every year, which was quite an achievement. Alexandra heard herself cheering and applauding with the other.

"Yes, yes, well done, Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Alexandra frowned. Surely he wasn't planning to?

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes …"

"First-to Mr Seamus Finnigan..."

The specialist of the explosions looked awfully uncomfortable in his chair.

"...for the most destructive explosion ever witnessed at Hogwarts, which burnt entirely a Devil's Snare, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

"Secondly-to Miss Lavender Brown..." the gossip queen of Hogwarts was suddenly trying to be silent for the first time in an entire year."For her great determination and skill in Flying, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Lavender burst into a happy conversation with the girls near to her. Alexandra saw several member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team look white of rage. Understandable since most of the rumours insisted the Brown girl had just crashed in a wall with her broom at high speed.

"Third – to Mr Ronald Weasley …"

The red-haired boy went purple in the face; he looked like a big and very red tomato.

"… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

Ron's head fell abruptly towards his plate, his face redder than ever.

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. The older Weasley present, a Prefect named Percy, could be heard telling the other Prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

The Potter Heiress wasn't that convinced. As the only person to have played the chess game besides Ronald Weasley, she had been able to win. And she had been a novice at chess. Of course, the Gryffindor wizard had had the handicap of protecting several persons. But this wasn't that impressive...

At last there was silence again.

"Fourth-to Mr Leo Black... for his sheer performance against a full grown mountain troll, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

The cheers mounted even higher from the Gryffindor table.

"Fifth– to Miss Hermione Granger … for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Alexandra strongly suspected she had burst into tears, and that these weren't of joy considering the behaviour of her housemates towards her from September to the end of May. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves and for good reason – they were now four hundred points up where they should have been.

"And sixth – to Mr Neville Longbottom …" Said Dumbledore. The room went quiet in a silence of death which augured nothing good. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house one hundred points."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Save Hermione and Nigel, every Gryffindor stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, who disappeared under a pile of people hugging him raising his arms in victory in a supremely arrogant manner.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause coming from the Gryffindor table, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the blue hangings became scarlet and the bronze became gold; the huge Ravenclaw eagle vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

Flitwick was looking at Dumbledore with a look of horrified betrayal. Snape was livid and the rest of the teacher staff save Hagrid and McGonagall looked uncertain and disturbed by what had just happened. Then the realisation came in the student's body. Dumbledore had just awarded five hundred points to Gryffindor. It was against all rules, against every convention and the sense of fair-play. Accusations and shouts were mounting from the tables of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, with Hufflepuff being divided between shouting and applauding. This was exactly the opposite of friendship and unity. Anger and contestations could be heard from the Ravens and the Snakes, with the teaching staff silent to their appeals.

"You Sir," said Alexandra raising her cup in direction of the Head Table, "had to choose between war and dishonour. You chose dishonour. You will have war."

Her words were of course ignored in the storm of cheers, applauds, shouts and contestations, but in her opinion, this quote from Winston Churchill she had read in the library of her school seemed oddly appropriate. In a single evening, Dumbledore had managed to destroy a lot of support he might have had in Ravenclaw House. It was not France and England offering Czechoslovakia to Hitler, or Saruman allying with Sauron, but it was a close analogy. Too close.

At least in Alexandra's mind it proved the man was completely senile and good for the asylum. Two teachers and about half the school for certain disgusted by this preferential treatment. Talk about a bad gambit.

It was one of the worst evenings ever in Ravenclaw House after that. Even winning the Quidditch cup (while she was lying in the infirmary, Ravenclaw had annihilated Gryffindor 420 to 80) was not enough to erase the gloom most of the Ravenclaw alumni. Alexandra herself shared some of this frustration. After all, what sort of system was it if you respected the rules and prepared perfect homework all year, only on the last day to be informed it didn't matter? Alexandra had no friendship with her housemates, but she had to admit the situation was terribly unfair. After fighting baby dragons, mountain trolls and evil professors, the Potter Heiress had not expected that. A mistake she would try to not make again.

 **May 29 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Alexandra had almost forgotten the exams results were still to come after that stunning development during the End of the Year Feast. Still, it did not stop them from coming. The morning after Gryffindor had emerged against all odds (and thanks to Dumbledore intervention) triumphant and the House Cup in the bag, the first-year rankings were published in a room next the Great Hall. Unlike the fifth years for their OWLS and the seventh years for their NEWTS, the grades of each student were published here at school before being sent to their house by school owl. No doubt as a safety measure to ensure the children didn't 'forget' to tell their parents they had failed a class or two. Not that it bothered Alexandra very much: the probability that the Dursleys would care about her performance in Transfiguration or Herbology was ranging from the very low to the non-existent, assuming of course that Vernon or Petunia would bother opening a letter coming from the wizarding world. To her satisfaction, she had done very well in the exams. On the roll of parchment, the rankings were published with all the grades and gave this:

1) Hermione Granger

2) Alexandra Potter

3) Morag MacDougal

4) Padma Patil

5) Terry Boot

6) Ernie Macmillan

7) Susan Bones

8) Su Li

9) Mandy Brocklehurst

10) Lisa Turpin

11) Parvati Patil

12) Antony Goldstein

13) Stephen Cornfoot

14) Kevin Entwhistle

15) Neville Longbottom

16) Michael Corner

17) Hannah Abbot

18) Megan Jones

19) Leo Black

20) Draco Malfoy

21) Nigel Wolpert

22) Wayne Hopkins

23) Daphne Greengrass

24) Tracey Davis

25) Justin Finch-Fletchley

26) Thelma Holmes

27) Leanne Malone

28) Lily Moon

29) Blaise Zabini

30) Dean Thomas

31) Fay Dunbar

32) Sally-Anne Perks

33) Lavender Brown

34) Flora Carrow

35) Hestia Carrow

36) Theodore Nott

37) Roger Malone

38) Millicent Bulstrode

39) Byron Vaisey

40) Ronald Weasley

41) Pansy Parkinson

42) Zacharias Smith

43) Seamus Finnigan

44) Gregory Goyle

45) Vincent Crabble

Overall, she had taken the second place behind Hermione (who had been completely untouchable ) and obtained O's in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, an E+ in Astronomy and an E- in History of Magic. Pretty good for someone who had only a few clues magic existed a year ago. That History of Magic was her worst grade was not a surprise: she had not access to anyone's archive, thanks to her isolation with her housemates, and if there was a thing she had learnt this year, it was Binns and Tiroflan's lessons were the perfect time to catch up some sleep or read an interesting book. Not study History. Hermione had been the best, and Nigel had managed to compensate the 'Dreadful' he had received in Potions and History with 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms and Herbology. Concerning the global rankings, Alexandra was forced to note her own House had literally crushed the competition in the academic field. Of the top ten students, seven were Ravenclaws. None of the Ravens were beyond the sixteenth place. Only the presence of Hermione (who had managed seven Outstanding) had deprived the Ravens from an overwhelming victory. By comparison, Slytherin and Gryffindor were outright disastrous with some elements tending towards the catastrophic. At the bottom of the list, Weasley, Finnigan, Crabbe and Goyle were living proof it was impossible to fail the first year of schooling at Hogwarts.

After that, everything passed in an instant. The afternoon passed in an instant as their affairs were taken from the wardrobes and packed in the trunks, Nigel's toad was found for the eighty-eight time lurking in some abandoned classroom (Hermione and Alexandra advised their friend he should have left it there) and notes were handed out to all the students, warning the children not to use magic over the holidays. By the signs of laughter coming from groups of Slytherin when they read it, Alexandra had the bad feeling this interdiction wasn't applicable to everybody in the wizarding world.

Not that it really mattered for her either. She had managed the previous year to do magic without a wand, and she had not received any owl to inform her that her presence was required at a magical trial. By the hints Flitwick had given her, as long as she did not used her wand to do magic and remained discreet about it, there was no reason the Ministry of Magic would suspect a thing. Judging by the complaints of the Weasley twins, some Gryffindors had not been informed of this, which perhaps was a wise move of their parents.

The next morning, all the first-years followed Hagrid, who was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake. Soon enough, under a clear sky they were boarding the Hogwarts Express. Alexandra took a compartment with Hermione and Neville, and their trio was not bothered as long as the travel lasted. They ate many wizarding sweets, discussed their project for the holidays and wondered what they would learn in their second year at school.

As they began to pass non-magical towns (Alexandra still refused to use the term 'Muggle'), all their wizards clothes went in their trunks, being replaced by jackets, coats and jeans. The arrival at King's Cross Station was really difficult: there were trunks, wizards and owls everywhere, and with only one exit hidden behind a magical barrier, it took quite a while for Hermione and Alexandra to go through the magical portal. Nigel was already gone, a very dangerous looking old man with a lot of scars, certainly his grandfather, had come to search him and teleported away in an instant.

"You should come at my home this summer," said Hermione, "both of you – I'll send an owl to Nigel and a letter to you."

"Thanks," said Alexandra. "If the Dursleys prove unbearable, expect to see me next week." The sad part was that she was only half-joking.

People jostled them as they moved forwards towards the gateway back to the normal world. Not that many cared Hermione or Alexandra were there. The exclamations and shouts had another target:

"Bye, Neville!"

"See you, Longbottom!"

"Who are we compared to the famous Boy-Who-Lived?" Asked rhetorically Hermione in an acid tone. Neville and the rest of the first-years Gryffindors forcing her to follow them in the forbidden corridor had left a deep resentment in the normally calm bushy-haired girl. If Alexandra was the Boy-Who-Lived, she would walk on eggs next year.

"Not a lot," sighed Alexandra," but see the positive side: unlike him, we still have a brain in working order."

She and Hermione passed through the gateway together. As Neville had passed before them less than a half-minute ago, the two girls were assailed by shouts of: "There he is, look!", including from a girl who appeared to be the younger member of the Weasley family.

"Neville Longbottom!" The red-haired girl shouted in excitement. _Great a fan-girl_ , thought Alexandra. "Look, Mum! I can see –"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Said her mother, a round and plump woman with red hair.

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Alexandra, carrying her trunk full of magical objects in a station full of ordinary people (although she had sent her owl Atalanta directly to Privet Drive so her perch had no bird coming with it). Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Alexandra. Good. At least these two had a limited sense of self-preservation.

"Hurry up, girl, we haven't got all day." He walked away.

Alexandra hung back for a last word with Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have – err – a good holiday." Affirmed Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, apparently shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant, even with Alexandra's warnings beforehand.

"Oh, I will," affirmed Alexandra with a wide smile on her face. "And if they don't, well, I have some money now. And plans to use it. I will go away from Privet Drive the time they calm."

Somehow, after the year she had lived at Hogwarts, the Dursleys didn't look so threatening anymore. Funny how magic changed your fears, wasn't it?


	19. Looking for Answers

**Chapter 19**

 **Looking for answers**

 **1st June 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Another year was gone. The students had finally left the school, all the hilarious traps and end of term's pranks from the Weasley Twins had finally been dealt with. Everything which had been forgotten by distracted students had been sent by owl to their homes.

Except the Senior Professors of every course taught at Hogwarts, Hagrid, the ghosts, Peeves and the house elves charged of the maintenance, every person living all the year in the castle had left. The teachers were going to depart too, including the Headmaster himself for several conferences of the ICW and the Wizengamot. For two and a half months, Hogwarts was going to be silent and abandoned. Until the teachers came back for another scholar year of course.

Filius Flitwick turned the corner of the corridor and emitted a loud groan when he saw the five large and heavy trunks sitting in front of his office. One of his mottos when he was young had been to travel light. This time was long over, considering all the trunks had considerable space-expansion Charms and other enchantments on them which allowed him to transport in each the equivalent of a large library and everything he needed for his life in Scotland nine months of the year. These days, he felt more and more like those old teachers who had retired when he just took the post of Junior Charms Professor, transporting the equivalent of a complete house everywhere with him.

 _I don't travel light anymore. I am getting too old for this._

This feeling had come back more and more times this school year. To be fair, it had hardly come as a surprise: with the third year of the Weasley Twins at Hogwarts and the chaos which went with it, plus the arrival of Neville Longbottom the famous Boy-Who-Lived and so many children of many prominent Light and Dark families, Filius had suspected a certain amount of conflict was unavoidable.

His darkest previsions, however, had really been so far off-track it wasn't even funny anymore. Not being content limiting themselves to the usual problems coming with Quidditch matches, Houses Gryffindor and Slytherin had spent most of their year fighting with each other, openly or no. It had been worse during the war eleven years ago, of course, but more in terms of lethal curses sent in the corridors than in terms of hostility. The Slytherins had rallied around the children of several blood-purists like Draco Malfoy, while the Lions were supporting the Defeater of Voldemort. "Slimy snakes" had been now the used way to name a member of House Slytherin, while those speaking against the Gryffindors used expressions like "Scarface sidekicks", "noble idiots" or "suicidal lions". Even House Hufflepuff, renowned for its loyalty, unity and solidarity, had seen a few of its members like the young Smith Heir taking sides in the inter-House conflict. Most of the Badgers had stayed out it, fortunately for the stability of Hogwarts.

And then there had been his own House Ravenclaw, and the realisation how badly he had let his students destroy the very qualities of Lady Rowena along the last decade. Not that he could do a lot to remedy to this situation. With the headmaster busy to hold three positions at the same time, the real work of making sure the school functioned day after day was Minerva McGonagall and Filius responsibility. When one added to this phenomenal amount of paperwork the job of Senior Professor of Charms, the grading of papers and diverse other things like teaching the Choir of Hogwarts, there was little time to ensure the prefects of the Ravens did their job correctly and seriously.

Which they definitely had not.

If Filius had had any doubt in the subject, seeing the Ravenclaw common room ravaged by a short and violent battle on the first day would have reminded him how the House of the Wise had fallen. Just because one student having a dark family past had been chosen to enter their ranks.

Filius had really wanted to expulse these students having had the temerity to attack an eleven years old girl at twenty against one. It bore too many similitudes with his childhood as the child of an interspecies union for him not to feel enraged and furious at this situation. He still wanted to, for that matter. But he had been overruled. In the words of Dumbledore, expulsing these teenagers would "lead them to a dark path". And Dumbledore, acting in his persona of Headmaster of the school and Chief Warlock, had not only refused to cast out the culprits but had too forbidden Filius to talk to the press about the incident or inflict severe punishments. The contract signed the day he was hired being still binding, Filius had been forced to agree. One of his own students had died because he couldn't stop his quest of revenge. The others had one by one learnt their lessons. In blood, pain and detentions.

Nevertheless, it had forced him to consider him three things on that dreadful night. First, because Filius obviously hadn't done his job of Head of House properly here at Hogwarts, it had pushed him to consider who in the staff could share the blame. The list was long. Of the Senior Professors, Kettleburn was an infirm. Snape was busy protecting his Slytherins all year from the consequences of their bullying and abuse, all the while treating the rest of the children, teenagers and young adult like piles of dragon dung. Minerva was like him too busy with her role of Deputy Headmistress and Senior Transfiguration Professor to deal with the internal problems of Gryffindor House. Trelawney was a drunk. Muggle Studies, the program and the teacher were decades out of date. Binns had never taught anything worthwhile when he was living, and the tradition continued while he was dead. The real prize was going to Dumbledore in the end. Holding three prestigious positions, the man who was widely known thorough the world as the Defeater of Grindelwald had passed fifty-three complete days in the castle this year as its Headmaster. Under his watch this year, two teachers and a student had died. Not been sent to Saint Mungo's. Dead. Nevertheless, it had all been brushed under the carpet, and Filius doubted any kind of inquiries would ever been opened in the years to come. None of the three persons deceased had any family left alive that he knew of, after all.

The second thing had been that if he wanted something done, he had better do it himself. It was a lesson that been forged to him when he had begun to take his first steps in the duelling circuit, but he had allowed it to slip back in the recesses of his mind. With his dear _colleagues_ unwilling to intervene in any way in the rapidly deteriorating situation of the magical school, he had decided to intervene in the magical education of a certain Alexandra Potter by teaching her duelling. Filius had not once regretted doing so. The girl was the perfect picture of her mother Lily Evans when she was angry or vindictive. The Potter Heiress was quite gifted in offensive spells , not to mention she had quite the gift to derail the little plans of Albus Dumbledore by her simple presence and little tolerance for the bullies and those who abused their authority in the castle. The cases of the mountain troll and the baby dragon were the most striking examples.

And the third... the third was the small chessman he had currently lying in his hands. From the outside, there was nothing extraordinary about such an object. In other circumstances, it would not have attracted his attention. Undoubtedly there were hundreds of such chess pieces owned by wizard families inside and outside Hogwarts. But this piece, this pawn, had been found on Devkins corpse when he was extracted from the rubble Alexandra Potter had used to indirectly kill him. As he had been the first on the scene, Filius had been able to examine the pawn and see the revealing spells casted by his wand signal a Protean Charm, a Life-Tracking Charm and dozens of other obscure incantations terribly difficult to cast even for a confirmed Charms Master like himself.

Filius long career on the Duellist circuit had introduced him to several quite famous duellists and a lot of infamous people around the years. It had given him a number of contacts which had made salivate the former Potions Master Slughorn. It had also taught him a huge number of rumours and legends surviving in the stadiums and taverns frequented by the circuit. Thousands upon thousands of things which were useless on a day per day basis.

The Legend of the Exchequer was one of those. In fact, it was not even a legend. More a tale to frighten people in the middle of the night, when all the common stories had been told and one wanted a horrific moment to shiver. Before May of this year, Filius Flitwick would have judged the existence of a group of wizards immensely powerful gathered in the goal of conquering the world ridiculous. The kind of thing one begins to invent when he has drunk too much Firewhiskey. Not to mention there had never been any clues about the existence of this mysterious organisation in hundreds of years, not to mention the ridiculous point that it had been supposedly created by a pharaoh having the ego of a pyramid. This had been before. This was now.

In spite of the warmth of the Scottish climate in this beginning of June, Filius Flitwick felt very cold contemplating the proof one of the most dangerous and secretive magical organisations which had ever been in existence had managed to send one of their agents in the premier school of the British Isles without anybody being the wiser. If the rumours had any truth in it, the pawns were their weakest members. And one of those had been able to conjure a series of obscure and terribly dangerous Dark Arts incantations. If Alexandra Potter had not had a lucky shot, nobody would have known anything and Devkins would have gotten away without anybody being the wiser.

Not that he knew much now. Only a name. And the dark feeling that whatever had been started this year, it was not over. Perhaps, over the summer, getting back in contact with old friends would not be that bad an idea. Now there was only to hope Miss Potter would stay out of trouble until the beginning of the new year...

 **3rd June 1992, Granger's Residence, England**

"Well at least we know the Stone is a fake." Alexandra affirmed with conviction.

"Are you sure?" Demanded Hermione.

The two girls were currently examining the results of their last experience with the Stone in the kitchen of Hermione's parents. There was a lot of piled glass...and a syrupy red liquid that sure as hell wasn't blood. Or blood had changed taste and consistence in this reality. It wasn't alchemic. Which left...

"Pretty much. Unless grenadine is one of the core ingredients for making a Philosopher's Stone?"

The brown-haired Gryffindor girl made a negative nod.

"Didn't think so." The Potter Heiress sighed. "Goodbye, dreams of unlimited gold and immortality..."

Not that it had been a deception any longer. The Stone had had no magical capacity whatsoever in the various liquids it had been plunged. Crushing it had just been the last confirmation the two young witches needed.

"And the one Neville saw in the mirror?" Asked Hermione.

"Certainly a fake too. If the first was a trick, I don't see why the Headmaster wouldn't put a second fake in the mirror."

The black-haired Ravenclaw closed her eyes momentarily before reopening them with new determination.

"Well, too bad. We will have to find other means to become rich and famous."

"You're already famous in the wizarding world." Corrected the dentists' daughter.

"No, I'm infamous, my dear Granger." Joked the green-eyed girl.

"Fair enough." Hermione shrugged. "I have managed to crack the codes Devkins used for the papers you stole, by the way."

"Difficult?" Alexandra demanded. Given the lack of protection surrounding his office, the eleven-year old had expected unbreakable codes to be the order of the day to protect sensitive information.

"He used well-known ciphers of World War II. With the library computer, it was not exactly difficult to decode them." Hermione sniffed in a disdainful manner. "Either he believed Muggle technology had not made any progress, or he thought no one would ever have the opportunity to read these documents before he destroyed them."

"The latter I think." Alexandra said thoughtfully. "Like in a spy movie." Well, it was not that weird. Devkins had been a spy of sorts, indeed. "Anything interesting?"

"Not really, no. Everything is in a sort of coded language, and I was unable to find the references."

"Fine." Alexandra tried her best not to show her disappointment. "Keep them, it's always possible we will find more clues. Or we could dump them to Professor Flitwick in December."

"There is one thing though, but I don't know if it is important..." The tone of the Gryffindor was hesitant.

"What?"

"Professor Devkins worked for someone called Knight Summoner."

"Knight Summoner? That's a weird name..." The Potter witch frowned. "I don't remember seeing it as a nickname of any known Death Eater. Certainly an alias or an invented persona...do you have any idea who this 'Knight' work for?"

"I have only one word. The 'Exchequer'."

 **10th June 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The students gone, Hogwarts was a formidable way to meet someone without rousing any attention, mused Albus Dumbledore. Save the elves, the ghosts, Hagrid and the portraits, there was no one left anymore. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he controlled four out of four of these. Which meant the meeting between himself and his visitor would stay between themselves.

"Firewhiskey, one hundred and twenty years of age." Gulped Alastor Moody with deep satisfaction. His old Auror friend was showing new scars and more grey hair than the last time Dumbledore had seen him. "May I ask how you put your hands on it?"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid." Smiled the Chief Warlock.

"You and your secrets, Albus." Growled the man infamously known everywhere in the British Isles as 'Mad Eye.' "You will have to offer me one for my retirement next year."

"Maybe." This was certainly an occasion worthy of it, but he was not going to say it straight in front of Moody. Otherwise everyone would ask for his bottles each week. "But you don't come at Hogwarts only to raid my liquor cellar."

"No." Told Alastor Moody. "There have been concerns in the Ministry, Albus. Your little dog-and-pony show at the End of the Year's Feast has alarmed many Neutral and Dark families."

"I understand." Said calmly the Supreme Mugwump. "That was-"

"That was stupid, Albus!" Growled the soon to be retired Auror. "Damn it! What were you thinking giving hundred of points to Gryffindor! You made a mockery of the entire system!"

"A point I'm well aware, I assure you." Said coldly Dumbledore. "Alas, some of our most...reluctant...Light partisans forced my hand. After years of Slytherin domination, half a dozen lords were impatient. They wanted Gryffindor and their precious children to win at any costs. In exchange, I have their support for several laws for the next decade and quite a few agents in Ministry departments where our presence was limited before."

"I see." Moody grimaced. "But you could have made it a bit more...subtle."

"I freely admit that when I agreed to this bargain, I had no idea Gryffindor was going to be in last place." Confessed Dumbledore. "But between the Twin Terrors, the New Marauders and diverse...events, the Lions lost so many points it was not an option. And I had not predicted Ravenclaw was going to win."

"The Neutrals are not going to love it." Warned the grizzling Auror.

"The Neutrals are never happy as soon as there is something breaking their precious traditions." Dumbledore expression turned almost predatory. "I might as well use their resentment to turn the current situation more...productive."

"Especially as the Dark Lord escaped again, you mean?"

Trust Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody to jump with his sole leg directly into the problem, thought Dumbledore.

"Especially as the Dark Lord escaped again." Repeated the Headmaster. "The Mirror of Erised proved ineffective against the wraith Voldemort has become."

"As long as no one is aware of your failure..." Grumbled the veteran of countless battles.

"I have already taken the steps needed." Reassured him Dumbledore. "Thanks to a judicious application of the Misdirection, Secrecy and Babbling wards, no one outside the castle will be able to take seriously the word of any student spreading rumours about a Forbidden Corridor."

"And those who assisted directly to the scene?"

"I have spoken with all but two of the Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw involved in the incident, and I am confident they share our views and will not scream on the roofs what has happened this year." The Headmaster caressed the phoenix perched on his knees and rolled his shoulders. "Still, I have made some 'suggestions' to avoid any slip of the tongue."

"And the three others?"

"One is a Muggle-born, thus what she can say to her parents won't matter at all. The second is living with the old Wolpert."

"This madman?" Sniggered Moody, which coming from him was supreme irony. "Fine and the third?"

"The last Potter."

"Ah." There was no smile anymore on Alastor scarred face. "Why didn't you order her elimination?"

"Killing her would lead to several...questions how we handled the Potter businesses and proprieties after the end of hostilities."

Moody ticked on half of his face.

"And I would lose the Potter vote plus the five minor Houses which still look to them despite James Potter's betrayal." Admitted reluctantly Albus Dumbledore. By itself, it was far from a large block but with Lucius Malfoy pushing for the elevation of many Dark clans to House status, every little bit counted.

"Politics." The word was thrown out Moody's mouth like an insult. "Fine. Do it your way. But at the first sign the Dark Lord is stirring again..."

"I will call you and the Order."Promised Dumbledore. "The Dark will not rise again. Not under my watch."

The noise of two glasses clinking concluded the important parts of this conversation.

 **2nd July 1992, 4 Privet Drive, England**

"DUDLEY! PIERS IS HERE!"

Alexandra groaned, woken up once again at was in her opinion an undue hour by the strident and unpleasant voice of Petunia. So much for the hope of sleeping late at 4 Privet Drive again.

"Why is her voice so strident anyway?" She grumbled. "No one at Hogwarts, not even this bitch of Pansy Parkinson has that kind of voice..."

The problem was that Alexandra was forced to hear that voice every day since she had come back from Hogwarts, except the week she had passed at Hermione's home. And to her horror, her tolerance to the screams of her 'aunt' and her 'uncle' had grown slimmer the nine months she was away from Privet Drive.

The problem was she had not a choice. When Hermione had made her the welcome proposition to pass a few weeks at her home, she had not known her parents had planned a six weeks-long holiday in Germany for July. Nigel, on his side, was with his father diplomat in Norway for the rest of the period before coming back to Hogwarts. Alexandra had been forced to return to the Dursleys. Well, the raven-haired girl supposed she could have rent a room in Diagon Alley, but truly the state of cleanness in these places left much to be desired.

In the mean time, the least one could say about her relatives was that her going to a school of magic hadn't transformed them into pleasant beings. Vernon and Petunia were still the angry and bitter persons who wanted nothing "freakish" or "abnormal" to contaminate their way of existence. Dudley was fatter and more violent than he had been the previous year, brutalising other younger children now he couldn't put his hands on Alexandra anymore.

There may have been differences in 4 Privet Drive when Alexandra was away at Hogwarts. These changes had not concerned the Dursley family unfortunately. Even the little fact that Dudley had sent five of his own Smeltings 'comrades' at the infirmary had not perturbed Petunia, nor had Dudley's bad marks angered Vernon. Dudley, Piers and his gang were free to terrorise anyone who was in their way in Little Whinging, when they were not watching TV or eating the equivalent of food necessary for an adult elephant to survive.

"And there is still July and August to pass..." Alexandra sighed.

In hindsight, doing her holiday magical homework in the first week with Hermione had been a not very good idea. As she had planned to stay at Hermione's home the majority of her free time, writing her Potions essays while she had the subject fresh in her mind had been tempting. Too tempting.

Now, it was July the fifth, and she had already taken out the magical homework option out. In despair of cause, Alexandra had 'borrowed' two weeks before the school books Dudley had been required to buy and use at Smeltings. She was really happy to have done so. In the first month she had passed at Hogwarts, Alexandra had tried to find the time to talk about her Head of House or Professor McGonagall about the absence of non-magical subjects like mathematics or foreign languages at Hogwarts. She had not met a lot of success. Flitwick had explained to her that a very complicated Charm allowed wizards and witches to learn French, German, Spanish and the other foreign languages they needed at an accelerated rate. As for the rest, purebloods were tutored in the things they needed to know; matters like Pure-Blood customs and etiquette were primordial in the magical society. Mathematics, physics and chemistry were judged irrelevant, and as a result basically ignored. No wonder wizards were so far behind the Wizarding World in terms of living conditions and the Goblins ruled with a golden fist the finance sector.

Well, this was not going to happen to Alexandra. With nothing else to pass her time, she had decided to catch up with the normal courses. She wouldn't be able to pass the exams like a normal student, but at least she wouldn't be ignorant.

Groaning and hearing more strident screams from Petunia "Take a sandwich before leaving Dudley!", "Don't come home late, Dudley!", "Be careful!" Alexandra decided the possibility of all her relatives becoming silent for the next hour was extremely low. The young witch decided she had better stand up and go eat some breakfast, assuming any was left after the passage of the two pigs known as Vernon and Dudley. Alexandra stood up from her bed and began to search the clothes which she was going to wear today.

As she had nothing special planned today, she chose a grey T-Shirt and black jeans. Turning her to the right of her wardrobe, she noticed Dudley had once again thrown some of his own old toys and birthday presents in her room. How predictable of her cousin. Even when something was damaged or irredeemably broken, Dudley was throwing it here, no matter the little issue she also lived in it. Apparently, going down the stairs with them and sending them in the dustbin was too tiring for him. Every time of the year. Sometimes Alexandra despaired how low her cousin was falling. Then the mutual hostility kicked in again and the green-eyed girl didn't care anymore.

Seeing an opportunity to test her abilities before everyone come back upstairs, Alexandra tried to levitate the ruined remnants of a video game carton which had just found its way on top of the pile wandlessly.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The effect was... brutal. Instead of slowly rising at the height of her eyes, the carton shot to the ceiling with the speed of a missile and disintegrated itself against it.

That was bad. Since she had come back from Hogwarts, every time she tried to do wandless magic, the results were apocalyptic. This was not the first time experiments went badly, and initially she had thought the failure of her efforts were due to her lack of practise and concentration. But one hundred per cent of guaranteed destruction was way too high. Before Hogwarts, Alexandra never had this type of problem. Before Hogwarts, she was able to change her facial appearance at will, teleport, do levitation and do some funny (and completely useless) things. Right now, all of her pre-Hogwarts skills she had tested, only the modification of her visage and teleportation worked correctly.

"Before Hogwarts..." she whispered. That was the key she knew. Alexandra had not tested her powers without a wand while she was in Scotland. There was no reason to, not when she had a wand.

"A wand..." and suddenly the realisation came. What was Ollivander the wand-maker had said? That the wand chose the wizard or the witch? But she had not asked what else the wand could do when she used it. The teachers had been very clear a wand was used to channel the power of a human's magic, the right of owning one having been denied to creatures like goblins and centaurs. However, they never mentioned side effects. Not that it mattered a lot, knowing the quantities of things the teachers never bothered to tell or to do for the students the whole year. Still, she would have to ask Flitwick if the use of a magical wand could make a witch or a wizard weaker than he or she was in reality. She had only seen one wand-maker in Diagon Alley, a fact which guaranteed a monopoly in this business as Vernon would have said.

The other possible reason was that the deadly spell sent by Devkins had shattered her ability to practise wandless magic. This...wasn't more engaging, honestly. At least with the first hypothesis you simply had not to use your wand. How did you study a curse supposed to have been erased from history centuries ago?

A tap on the window interrupted her ruminations. It was a brown owl, no doubt carrying the newspaper of the day. After going to Hermione's home, she had made a little travel to the Daily Prophet where she had paid for a year-long subscription. The main newspaper of the Wizarding world was definitely of a very low quality compared to the non-magical ones (and yes, Alexandra included the tabloids in the lot) but at least it allowed her to keep in touch with important events.

She had not long to see if there had been something important today. Having relieved the owl of its package, the vision of the headlines made her gasp.

NICOLAS FLAMEL FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME!

Beyond this big title was a vision of the famous alchemist and his wife Perenelle lying dead in their living room. Unlike most wizarding photos, this one was not moving at all, and there was a lot of blood (she thought it was blood, the wizards photos were still plain back and white, making details difficult). Not good. Not good at all.

The rest of the article was not sharing a lot of reliable information. Aside from remembering how famous the man had been for his contributions to alchemy and his association with Dumbledore, the journalist who had written the article, a certain Rita Skeeter, had been more interested in putting in a single page all the unlikeliest rumours she could find than reporting honestly and truthfully the facts. According to the writer, Nicolas Flamel had been involved in everything nasty which had happened in France, England and the rest of Western Europe these past six hundred years, passing from conspiracy against the British Ministry of Magic to weird alchemist experiment on animals. It was extremely nauseating to read. Internally she wondered if the paper had been redacted like this because Flamel was French and a foreigner or because this Skeeter woman simply loved treat people like dirt. The second page, finishing this insult to literature, was full of ramblings and rumours that even Lavender Brown, gossip queen of Hogwarts, would have found ridiculous in a magical school. Alexandra was going to abandon her lecture for something more educative, like catching up with a late breakfast, when one paragraph she had missed at the bottom caught her eyes.

"Some sources inside Gringotts Bank insisted Mr Flamel had long ago moved some of his most important possessions to the vaults of Brise-Roc, one of the most secure fortresses of the Goblin race in French territory..." She read aloud.

Well that was not the place she expected to find confirmation of the things she had learnt during the year, but apparently the Daily Prophet sometimes wrote the truth even if it was lost in pages and pages of rumours and slanderous accusations.

The question was now what to do. If Flamel was really dead, then the last person who could have elucidated the Philosopher Stone mystery had disappeared. But seen from another perspective, it was a disaster for Alexandra. The Potter Heiress had hoped to obtain some information on the Philosopher Stone, Dumbledore machinations or any kind of alchemic knowledge, despite the fact Atalanta had not managed to contact Flamel or one of his relatives in the last months. Right now, the little red stone she had had in her possession was useless: unless you counted obtaining grenadine syrup a success. No school book made more than a passing mention of Alchemy, and she had checked the list of books in store at _Flourish and Blotts_ ; no manual for Alchemy was sold there. With the reputation of her family in the dirt, going in Knockturn Alley would be the equivalent of killing her reputation in one strike. That just left Gringotts.

She had better hope the Goblins of England and France cooperated better than the non-magical human populations. Otherwise her chance to discover the basics of Alchemy and solve the mysteries of the school year were basically equal to zero. No one had been accepted in this third-class elective in the last fifty years at Hogwarts, she sincerely doubted she would be the lucky one to break this abyssal record of the British school.

Grabbing a piece of parchment, Alexandra began to write a note to Senior Accountant Grimjaw, the goblin managing her vaults. Given that she had had currently four exchanges of owls between her and her bank accountant, she didn't think the dangerous and apparently easily irritable goblin would mind too much if she asked for an appointment. Her message was still written to raise his curiosity just in case she proved wrong, through. Then came the messages for Hermione and Nigel. Alexandra had promised to keep them informed of any new developments, and these news entered this category.

After giving her letters to Atalanta who flew in the late morning at a thunderous speed, Alexandra descended the stairs but had not yet the time to reach the kitchen before being intercepted by her uncle.

"Girl!" Growled Vernon in a voice which would have made the shapeshifter Beorn laugh at an attempt so pathetic to intimidate someone. "We need to talk!"

Her uncle- by all the known deities of the universe how she felt a bad taste in her mouth every time she used this word-had done his best to be more threatening than usual, she quickly noticed. Despite not working on this day or for the rest of the week for that matter, Vernon Dursley was wearing a full grey costume, with the ties, the shoes and everything which went with them for the occasion. He was also bombing his huge torso like an Olympic athlete saluting the crowd before the finals, giving her the strange impression of a huge walrus preparing for a fight.

"And what is the subject of the conversation?" Alexandra asked as civilly as she could.

"In three days, one of my most important potential clients is coming to dinner." Vernon enounced in a tone which made limpid this was THE Day, with a big D, a lot of underlines and in capital letters. "I could very well sign the most important deal of my career. So everything needs to be perfect."

Alexandra could not stop smiling at that declaration. Every year, Vernon had at least twice of these dinners with clients organised, and every year the "biggest career contract was to be signed" came again. In reality, the miraculous contract rarely materialised. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had a gift to be perfect hosts when they wanted to make the effort, and the repetitions beforehand to do so usually managed to charm their clients for the whole evening, but her uncle was by nature a very unsatisfied man. The month after the dinner, it was downright miraculous if Vernon, Petunia or Dudley were not vilipending the client and the contract, as it had been below the levels of income her uncle and the rest of the Dursleys waited for.

"You will be in your room, making no noise and pretending you're not there." Continued Vernon.

"Like I'm supposed my whole life you mean?" Replied Alexandra. "Don't bother, uncle. That was what my teacher at school qualified in the rhetorical questions category." She said as Vernon turned a violet colour and seemed ready to launch of his angry tirades he was known for.

"You don't have to worry," she added rapidly, as Vernon Dursley was now shaking in rage and fury. It was only a moment of time before he exploded and screamed murder, unless he had a heart attack before. Somehow, she doubted she would be that lucky. "I have an appointment with someone of my world in two days; if everything goes correctly, I will be gone for at least the rest of the week." She avoided the words 'goblins' and 'magic', knowing it would infuriate him. Alexandra also did not tell a bank was involved or that she would rent a room somewhere in Diagon Alley if Grimjaw didn't want to help her.

The relations between her so-called family and her being awful at the best of times, she wouldn't give them any information they could use against her in the future. The less ammunition anyone bearing the name Dursley had about one Alexandra Victoria Potter, the best it was in her opinion.

The expression on the face of Vernon Dursley changed from anger to what looked like joy in one second.

"Good, good." Vernon erupted, with the face of someone who had been told Christmas came early. "Tell your aunt the date of your return before you go."

As if the elder Dursley was interested in seeing her returning.

More like 'I can best prepare an excuse to sell to the neighbourhood for your absence and spread the nastiest rumours possible', was the unspoken affirmation. The Valar forbid the Dursleys cared about her well-being.

"DUDLEY! PIERS! MALCOLM IS HERE!"

The horrible voice of Petunia ended the conversation, and as Vernon Dursley moved to see if his spoilt his son wasn't lacking anything with his friends, Alexandra charged towards the kitchen hoping there was some food left.

There wasn't of course. Dudley had emptied the fridge leaving only the vegetables and some fruits.

 **6th July 1992, Gringotts Bank, London**

"I have the feeling you are going to make the end of my life very interesting, Heiress Potter." Said Accountant Grimjaw in a tone which sounded really amused.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow at this affirmation and the old goblin grunted.

"When you were introduced here last year in my office, I hoped you were going to live a calm and boring life, leaving me small amounts of paperwork for the next decades. Tranquil enough for me to be your accountant for four or five more decades and then pass the mantle to my son and enjoy my retirement. "

"If the events which happened at Hogwarts during my first year are any indication for the future, life isn't going to be boring." She remarked.

"Indeed." Sighed Grimjaw, continuing to read the papers Alexandra had brought with her relating the most memorable moments so far having marked the magical school while she was present.

His lecture took a few minutes, giving her the opportunity to observe the office of her goblin accountant. There were not any major discrepancies. The piles of paperwork crowding the room were still present, the red desk had not moved at all, and the diverse pieces of furniture were littering with parchments, books and ledgers. Bankers at Gringotts did not love empty offices apparently.

"Well this is a fine piece of hippogriff dung." Told Grimjaw in a disgusted voice, making her almost jump in surprise as he finished his lecture.

"Even if only a quarter of what you imply is true, Dumbledore is losing really his touch with reality. Trolls, a dragon and a Cerberus?

However, most of the data you have linking him to his criminal activities with Nicolas Flamel are only rumours and gossips, Heiress Potter."

"I assume there's no way we will be able to send him to jail with the evidence I have?" Alexandra asked, more resigned than hopeful truth to be told.

Grimjaw laughed, although his eyes remained cold and without joy. "For any common wizard? Maybe, maybe not. Stealing from our race has never been made a felony or a crime by your Wizengamot, but the threat of any Goblin rebellion is generally enough to make the Ministry extremely compliant."

The tone of Grimjaw implied he and his fellow goblins deeply regretted it. Time for another Goblin Rebellion, perhaps?

"But we are speaking about Albus Dumbledore, the Grand Sorcerer and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. In the unlikely chance you would manage to find enough evidence against the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Wizengamot or the Minister for Magic would exonerate him in less than a minute. Maybe less.

Not to mention the man is right now your official magical guardian Heiress Potter, which could give him the right to dismiss the charges in your name before entering a court."

"He has that much power..."

Grimjaw watched her with a surprised look.

"Exactly what sort of things do you learn about the Ministry in your school?"

"Nothing, our dear Professor Binns is still droning about the Goblin Rebellions. Professor Tiroflan is too lazy to open a book, never mind read it."

"Ah, that explains it." The goblin shrugged, having evidently learnt one way or another of Binns ineptness and Tiroflan's incompetence. "Your Headmaster controls about directly one-third of the Wizengamot at the moment. His direct power will decrease in the next years, as new heirs and heiresses including you will take their seats, but the majority of the Ministry administration is crowded with his supporters or people owing him favours. One or two request for vice of procedures is all that is necessary, at the end of the day. And the only possible opponents are people...who share conservative values about magical and blood purity."

Which was perhaps the understatement of the year to say these persons had been Death Eaters of the Dark Lord Voldemort in the last conflict.

Well, it was not like she had been ready or willing to enter the political arena at the age of twelve, or when she was adult for that matter. Moreover, with the number of Slytherins and Ravenclaws she had sent to the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts this year, it was more probable the politicians would be more tempted to sue or try Alexandra in a magical court than Dumbledore.

That still left the other subject...

"And the chances of finding any clues useful at Brise-Roc are?"

"I'm afraid no one here at Gringotts can answer that."

That was not the answer Alexandra had expected to hear.

"Isn't Brise-Roc a goblin fortress?" The young witch demanded with consternation in her voice.

"It is." Said Grimjaw. "Unfortunately, in the last seventy-two hours, no contact with our French redoubt has been made. The fortress is in full lock-down."

One look at the goblin face was enough to see how bad it was.

Alexandra had suddenly a very bad feeling in her stomach. Dumbledore or one of his associates making a burglary to obtain one Philosopher's Stone was one thing. Cutting an entire place where thousands of goblin warriors were no doubt garrisoned had far more unpleasant and worrisome implications.

"An expeditionary force is mustered as we speak." Continued the old accountant. "Our cousins from the continent are sending an expeditionary force of five thousands warriors and an entire group of human curse-breakers to assert the situation and claim back Brise-Roc if it is in hostile hands."

"You are aware it's a trap, aren't you?" Alexandra asked for the form. "So close to Flamel death, it can't be a coincidence. Someone is covering his tracks, and doesn't care how many wizards and goblins he has to kill to do so."

A loud sigh was confirmation enough Grimjaw had foreseen this.

"We have not the choice," told Grimjaw in a low tone where anger seems to fight with resignation. "There's enough gold stocked in our vaults there to trigger an economic crisis if it came out it was stolen. And while the defenders of Brise-Roc were surely taken by surprise and treachery" his voice snarled at the last two words, "the army we are sending will be ready for war."

"If you have the situation so well in hand, I don't see why you are telling me all of this." The Potter Heiress remarked with a point of disappointment in her voice. "After all, I'm not a Gringotts employee."

Alexandra was hardly a curse-breaker or whatever job the goblins hired wizards and witches for in their bank either. Truth to be told, after one year of magical education, the green-eyed witch doubted she knew anything which could be considered useful by the goblin bankers.

"This place is protected by several Runes creating an effect similar to an Oath of Silence." The smile of Grimjaw was disturbing. "You will not discuss these matters out of my office."

Taking a new inspiration, the old goblin continued in a tone which could be qualified as pompous.

"Several of the curse breakers we provide to our continental cousins have required assistants to accompany them, in order for them to be more concentrated on their curse-breaking tasks while the assistants do the unimportant job of cooking, cleaning and guarding the camp. Being gracious employers, we are of course delighted to provide them such help."

"Of course." Said Alexandra sarcastically. "And the real reason?"

"The curse-breakers we send to France are all highly suspected of theft and having forgotten their duty towards the branch of Gringotts London more than once. But according to your Ministry, we can't execute them on the spot for their betrayal, Gringotts has to provide proof of their misdeeds. It will be up to you to find the evidence of their betrayal."

"Why me?" The young witch asked after a moment of silence. "Surely you have investigators in Gringotts ready for that sort of scenario."

"But my superiors are certain the cursed-breakers we're talking about are aware of their identity and their methods. Oh, they send them anyway. But I think you represent a much better opportunity. An eleven year old human will not attract as much attention..."

Alexandra groaned internally. Sometimes, she thought, her curiosity was going to be the reason of her demise. But the Potter Heiress asked the fatal question.

"Assuming you're right, why should I be crazy enough to accept this little offer to spy on wizards who can destroy me with one hand tied behind their back?"

Given the large toothless smile Grimjaw wore, this question had been largely anticipated. Damn the Goblins.


	20. The Battle of Brise-Roc

**Chapter 20**

 **The Battle of Brise-Roc**

 **12 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France**

"Tell me Miss Arwen. "Berated Henry Thurgood." Are all the mudblood children of your age so dim-witted or did you have to take lessons to be so stupid?"

Alexandra by a monumental effort of will managed to not take her wand and curse the man in front of her so badly until the man looked like a frog or a snail. It did not stop her to fix him with a cold stare she had perfected a long time with the Dursleys.

A few seconds passed in a cold, silent stare. Finally, Thurgood was the first to break the stalemate and lowered his brown eyes to look at his shoes.

"Clean this mess!" He snarled in an enraged voice where fear, anger and disgust were all present, before walking away in direction of the lower levels of Brise-Roc.

The mess in question was his own tent and everything in it, noticed Alexandra with a non-hidden disgust. Wizarding robes, food, bottles of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, Knuts, potions ingredients and several instruments prised by cursed-breakers were littering the floor. An impartial observer would qualify it as a dustbin in her honest opinion, and it was considerably worse knowing that this last week, she had cleaned this tent every day thoroughly and in an exemplary fashion.

Cleaning the tent perfectly was not enough to the taste of Curse-breaker Henry Thurgood, however. Never mind the odious pureblood who had no skills in keeping order of his own possessions, he also insisted that because Alexandra was his assistant, she had to cook everything he wanted, write his memories-which-will-no-doubt-be-the best-seller-of the-year and a myriad of other tasks. All the while without him giving precise and coherent instructions.

After a week in the presence of Thurgood, punctuated by his insults of "mudbloods" and how she was a worthless being, Alexandra was really on the verge of murdering him. Only the contract she had signed with Grimjaw in this office prevented her to so, the accountant having been very clear on her instructions: the curse-breakers had to face goblin's justice. Her role was to find proof, not to execute the sentence.

On June 3, she had to admit she hadn't especially cared. Alexandra didn't like killing, Devkins had left her a very bad reminder, and it had been a case of 'me or you' when the Defence Professor had fought her at Hogwarts. She had been more interested in negotiating her services for the price of 2 000 Galleons and five artefacts of her choice found at Brise-Roc (under the condition there was no known owner to claim them back).

In hindsight, she should have demanded to read the files they had on the different suspected curse-breakers, it would not have prepared her to the reality of these imbeciles and inbred idiots, but it would have provided a nice advance warning. Alas, she had not done so. And Alexandra really, really regretted it now. The main issue she had with her assignation was the less and less likelihood the goblins had only wanted to get rid of these curse-breakers because they stole or abused their employment contracts, but also because said persons were generally loathsome characters.

Thurgood, the curse-breaker she was currently assistant, was bad enough. The man was rude, arrogant, selfish, gluttonous, had no manner, and seemed to delight from any opportunity to insult the common goblins or the humans who were below him in the hierarchy of the expedition force. These were his qualities. His light brown hair were spiked like if someone had cursed them to stand straight until the end of times, which combined to his perpetual anger, made sure everyone stood well away from him.

Not that the others were any prize. If anything, Stephen Selwyn of the Noble and Ancient House of Selwyn, the senior curse-breaker sent by Gringotts London, was even more arrogant than Thurgood (if it indeed was humanly possible) and was a fanatic supporter of the pure-blood idiocy which had done so much damage in Wizarding England during the decade of her birth. The man was throwing out the words "mudblood" and "blood-traitors" in conversations like these were the only words in his vocabulary. The less said about how he was treating the liaison goblins, the better.

The rest of the English group was a reflection of the leadership provided by Selwyn and Thurgood: null. Andrew Flint, of one the secondary branch of the Noble House of Flint, was looking like he was closely related to a troll and had the aggressive behaviour and the stupidity of the species in question. Marcus Cram and Denver Poke were young adults who had found the job promised by their families was too boring and had applied for the position of curse-breakers with the idea of filling their pockets with gold and searching for adventure. Timothy Boxley was an old man who had left the administrative branch of Gringotts London because the pay was not good enough for him to earn a decent retirement, although his gambling problems no doubt played a part in this. Craig Trigg and Jeremiah Maestro were men who were continuously drunk, how and why they were doing this job was beyond her knowledge. Brendan Parkin was a smuggler, who considered his duty to sell to the rest of the curse-breakers all sort of things which figured on the forbidden list of any curse-breaker having sense. And yes, it included the equivalent of magical drugs, alcohol and adult movies.

Nine curse-breakers sent by Gringotts London, all purebloods. All idiots. No wonder the goblin had only been able to find a single assistant, Alexandra herself, to deal with this band of thieves.

Of course, there were some good points as well. Grimjaw had been courteous enough to allow her to work under a pseudonym, and she had taken "Galadriel Arwen" as her new fictional name. She did not know how Thurgood and the others humans present would react if they learnt her name was Alexandra Potter, and she had no intention to find out. Pureblood being out of touch with anything concerning the non-magical world, much less _the Lord of the Rings_ , her anonymity had a good chance to hold until the end of her mission.

Alas, Thurgood and his fellow curse-breakers had no idea of proper hygiene and it was painful to live in the same area as them, but they were forced to do their job about eight hours a day, which left the young Ravenclaw away from their non-pleasurable presence the better part of day's light.

As a third good point, the landscape was also spectacular. Brise-Roc, like the dwarf fortress of Erebor imagined by Tolkien, was built inside a mountain, with a monumental bridge over a large precipice being the only way to access it.

The valley leading to the bridge was where the goblin army and their human employees had based their camp, and it was a magnificent spectacle, with thousands of flowers blooming in the green pastures, the imposing mountains of the French Alps all around them. A blue sky without any trace of clouds, very warm temperatures, a river with cold water to freshen the bodies when it grew too hot and some adorable animals emerging from their dens like marmots contributed to make the scene an idyllic vision. It was infinitely better than the weather and the ambiance she would have seen at Privet Drive at any rate!

Fourth, Alexandra had a lot of anecdotes to send to Hermione by the intermediary of Atalanta. It was always good to have a friendly ear to complain your boss was a jerk and that the pure-bloods were diseased with criminal stupidity.

Unfortunately, the good news ended there. It had been seven days since the goblin army and the curse-breakers had arrived to Brise-Roc and in that period of time, no one had managed to find a trace of the goblin garrison which had been stationed there. The humans and the goblins had opened the gigantic steel gates, only to be greeted by a silence of death. The citadel was empty of living beings.

So far, no one had managed to explain how such a thing was possible. The vaults of the upper levels, full of gold and silver bullion stocked there by different branch of Gringotts Bank and wealthy magical parties, were intact. The gates of the fortress were intact. The magical protections of the upper levels were intact. No door had been breached, no alarm sounded, no ward deactivated. Only the goblins supposed to guard the place had volatilised themselves.

In these circumstances, Warfist, the general goblin in charge, had ordered the immediate evacuation of everything in the upper levels vaults. A few goblins had adventured themselves in the depths of the mountain, but before their return, the priority was now to evacuate everything remotely precious.

In the last weeks, the goblins and the humans had worked in rotation every hour to extract tons and tons of precious metals.

Alexandra had in the mean time passed her time tidying up, putting into order and cleaning up everything in the human camp. It had been a monumental chore, and not only because the pure-blood wizards didn't know what a washing machine was. She didn't know if the Ministry was able to realise she was doing magic with a magic wand here, so she was stuck with her wandless capabilities. Her skill in this area had not improved since the beginning of June. In fact, it was growing worse. Teleportation and changing her appearance worked for an unknown reason, but levitation or every other spell she had learnt at Hogwarts in the last ten months were chaotic and unreliable. Last time, she had tried to use Wingardium Leviosa, she had made a tent float ten feet above ground. Impressive, expect the tiny little fact she wanted to levitate a pen roughly above her head.

As a result, cleaning charms were about the only things the green-eyed girl trusted herself to do without using her wand. The rest was done by hand, like at the Dursleys. So yes, a chore. The only silver lining in this was that, unlike at the Dursleys, Alexandra was paid for this job.

After several hours of hard cleaning, she had finally cleaned the entirety of the space occupied by the curse-breakers. And with two hours spare before the first came back from their mission. Smiling widely to have finished her work for the day, Alexandra was about to go plunge her feet in the cold water of the river when a lone goblin rushed out of the mountain like Sauron himself was after him.

Oh well, what happened inside Brise-Roc was interesting, but not her problem. Moreover, an entire army of goblins warriors didn't need the help of a first-year witch to fight. The Potter Heiress was half-way to the torrent when the amplified voice of Warfist exploded from nowhere.

"EVERYONE RALLY AT THE GATES!"

Okay, apparently the assumption her day was finished was completely off-mark. Abandoning any idea of relaxing and cold water, Alexandra began to run towards the gates.

It took her less than ten minutes to reach the massive doors protecting the entry of Brise-Roc, but the goblins were even faster. Hundreds of goblins were in perfect ranks, fully armoured and ready for war with large halberds, spears and axes. Alexandra gulped at this vision of martial strength. Seeing dozens of goblins transporting gold and silver the whole week, the mystic of the goblin warrior had lost a lot of its aura in her eyes.

Now she regretted it, and she realised how the wizards had suffered so many defeats in the Goblin Rebellions droned by the monotonous voice of Professor Binns. The goblins were smiths without equal, but it was their rapidity to take the battlefield and their military discipline which had crushed wizards and witches in the past despite one side lacking magical wands. According to her watch, four-fifths of the entire expeditionary force, some 4000 warriors, had been armed and gathered in less than fifteen minutes, and the rest were already inside the mountain. Even to her untrained eye, she supposed there were non-magical military forces in this planet which would kill to have this kind of force.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Snarled a grizzled voice with a heavy German accent behind her. Turning her head, Alexandra watched as Heinrich Sturmwald, a curse-breaker affiliated to Gringotts Berlin marched rapidly to the position she occupied.

In a brief moment, Alexandra really hoped she had not been the intended recipient of the remark. Sturmwald was nothing like the English curse-breakers she had to deal with on a day per day basis. Of middle-age (though with magic it was difficult to judge accurately), black-hair, livid blue eyes and a strong complexion, the German curse-breaker was the complete opposite of someone like Henry Thurgood. One look at Sturmwald's face and the two nasty scars on it had been quite enough to convince her at her first meeting with him this man was the real deal of the profession. To make matters more 'interesting', the German wizard emanated a sort of magical presence, not like the one Dumbledore had always when he was present the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but more in Flitwick or McGonagall league.

But seeing Sturmwald look her directly in the eyes, Alexandra knew she was not so lucky.

"Yes it is, Sir." She agreed. "I pity their enemies."

The middle-aged German wizard emitted something between a bark and a laugh.

"You really have no idea what's going on, do you girlie?" Sturmwald told her. "The wards and the detectors my team put in the lower levels yesterday have reported an astonishing amount of dark magic forming in the mines under the lowest vaults. If you had any sense, you would have stay at your camp while the adults are busy dealing with the problem."

Alexandra grimaced internally, not liking at all being talked like that, especially when it was more or less the truth. On the other hand...

"With all due respect, Sir," She answered in a calm tone while the goblins stayed in their equivalent of military parade. "I just wanted to see what had happened to put the entire expeditionary force in a state of war. If there is a danger in the mountain, I will let the army and all your curse-breakers will be between it and myself."

The middle-aged wizard emitted a grunt which sounded like 'good answer', although with the man it was difficult to tell. It could also be 'your funeral' or something like that. Unlike the rest of the German wizards, the English group and the French one, Heinrich Sturmwald's expressions were hard to read. To say the truth, if Sturmwald said she had to go now, she would obey. Unlike the leaders of the French contingent Léon De La Rousseraie and Louis De Male Foi (which with his blonde hair was probably a male cousin of the Malfoy family ), the man had not the so familiar pure-blood arrogance and was obviously not passing a quarter of his day grooming his hair, his nails and spend a fortune in cosmetics.

Alexandra was at that state of her thoughts when Warfist, the commander-in-chief of the expedition himself, marched through the ranks of his warriors to reach the gates. One look at the massive goblin was enough to know why he was the commander and the rest were obeying him. Alexandra had grown in height this last year, but Warfist was still taller than her and had a musculature which would have shamed an Olympic athlete. His armor was silver and gold, with a lot of runes shining in the sun of the afternoon. In his right hand, lied a massive warhammer decorated in gold. From her position fifty meters away, Alexandra felt the power emanating from the tool of destruction. The runes and the red sparks at its surface affirmed loud and clear how badass (to use a word in Dudley's vocabulary) this hammer was.

"They call it the Judgement." Said Sturmwald on her right, having noticed the object of her attention.

"Lovely." The black-haired witch answered.

"In ancient times, the goblins used weapons like this one to defeat the ancient giants."

"And it worked?"

"There are no more ancient giants to say no." Replied in an amused tone her interlocutor.

BBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!

The whispers ceased instantly, as one of the goblins following Warfist had stricken a massive gong in metal, in what was obviously a military signal.

As one man, pardon one goblin, the army in front of her eyes advanced one step and struck their armour with their right fist. The voice of Warfist then roared in the valley.

"WARRIORS! PROUD SONS OF GURGLAG!" The goblin general bellowed, a feat extraordinary there was no megaphone or anything to boost the sound of his voice. "THE SECULAR ENEMY SHOWS AGAIN ITS UGLY HEAD! LIKE A COWARD AND A TRAITOR, HE ACTS IN THE SHADOWS, UNWILLING TO FACE US ON THE BATTLEFIELD! NO MATTER! THIS NIGHT WE WILL DRINK OUR VODKAZOR IN HIS SKULL! TO ARMS MY WARRIORS!"

And in a furious roar which shook the mountain to its foundations the goblins shouted their defiance.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

Alexandra gulped at this manifestation of hate. _Note to self_ , she thought, _be far away when the goblins find the enemy_. The French and English curse-breakers, who had by now taken position near the gates, seemed to share the same opinion, judging from their livid faces and shaking hands.

Then, having taken the exhortations of their leader to heart, the close formation of the goblin expeditionary force disappeared one rank after another in the entrails of their fortress. To war. Warfist was of course leading them.

"Follow me, girlie." The voice of Sturmwald stopped her to contemplate more this shining example of martial strength.

Walking besides the German wizard, Alexandra noticed all the humans were taking positions at regular intervals in the rear of the goblin force. First the French, then the Germans and finally the English. Thurgood and Selwyn watched her take her place next to Sturmwald with what looked to be hate on their face and in their eyes.

She didn't look at her compatriots more than an instant, however. Soon, every human was forced to enter the mountain and adapt to the implacable rhythm of march imposed by the small race of smiths and warriors.

On the inside, her first look at Brise-Roc gave her the picture of a magnificent citadel, one which the goblins had in all probability taken years to excavate when the time came to build the large pillars, columns and all the other stone gravures. It was like the goblins had read Tolkien and mixed Erebor and the Moria.

Alas, the silent citadel they were currently marching inside was also sharing the deadly silence of the imaginary dwarf mines and strongholds. In spite of the goblins singing something which was a funeral march by the tone of it, nothing could make her forget the lack of inhabitants. There were a lot of torches disposed in great halls the size of football stadiums (if not bigger), but the dark and the feeling of abandon was oppressing. The goblin army being unable to fill some of these places by its simple presence was also not boosting everyone's spirits.

The goblins and the humans passed three more huge halls (which would have made any king acceptable throne rooms), before engaging in narrower corridors. The space being not available, the goblins formed a narrower formation of three ranks large. The torches on the wall became scarcer, forcing her and several wizards to use Lumos (she supposed that the mountain was far off-range of the Ministry). They were descending, slowly but surely after an interminable amount of time. Her feet were in pain, but no pause was declared.

No one among the humans was talking. The goblins had ceased to sing too, and now there were only the noise of two species clashing their foot on the stone floor to hear. The profile of the travel then changed abruptly.

In a single file, hundreds of warriors began to descend by a long series of stairs carved in stone. By moment, ropes had to be used as they passed over large gaps and holes where trolls and Cerberus could have disappeared without a trace. It was progressively becoming hotter and more humid. Now positioned behind Heinrich Sturmwald but before Thurgood, Alexandra whispered a song she had learnt in the Lord of the Rings by heart when she was nine to give herself courage:

The world was young, the mountains green,  
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,  
No words were laid on stream or stone  
When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;  
He drank from yet untasted wells;  
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,  
And saw a crown of stars appear,  
As gems upon a silver thread,  
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,  
In Elder Days before the fall  
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond  
And Gondolin, who now beyond  
The Western Seas have passed away:  
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne  
In many-pillared halls of stone  
With golden roof and silver floor,  
And runes of power upon the door.  
The light of sun and star and moon  
In shining lamps of crystal hewn  
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night  
There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,  
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;  
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;  
The delver mined, the mason built.  
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,  
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,  
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,  
And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;  
Beneath the mountains music woke:  
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,  
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,  
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;  
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls;  
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb  
In Moria, in Khazad-dum.  
But still the sunken stars appear  
In dark and windless Mirrormere;  
There lies his crown in water deep,  
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

She had the time to repeat her song three times before their part of the army finally reached the lower levels of the stairs. The march came at that moment abruptly to an halt, as loud and big "CLANG!" and "CRASH!" were suddenly heard.

Everyone in the vicinity stopped whispering or singing. The "CLANG!" and "CRASH!"could be heard during half a minute or so, and then silence fell again in the depths of the mountain. One look towards the goblins that were nearby and the curse-breakers was enough to be sure that whatever noises these were, Alexandra guessed they had not been part of any scenario.

Turning in direction of Sturmwald, she whispered:

"What do you think it was, Sir?"

At the light of his wand, Heinrich's face looked glum.

"It was the platform elevator. I think." Replied the German curse-breaker in a hesitant tone that was out of character for him.

"You told us the wards protecting the elevator were perfectly safe!" Snarled a massive goblin warrior next to Stephen Selwyn. "Damn humans unable to work properly..." the rest of the sentence was said in another language, but Alexandra did not need to know it to know the goblin was agonising them of insults.

"Quiet." Said Sturmwald. "His face was ashen, and Alexandra's heart accelerated when she realised the man was afraid."If we were wrong about the elevator, then we may be wrong about the main doors too. And if we are..."

"Oh, no." Alexandra own voice sounded distant, even to her own ears. "They provoked an alert in the dark magic wards in order for us to descend here."

"Ridiculous!" The same goblin who had spoken earlier told them. "They should have known how we would react! And even if they did, we have an entire army here!"

"Much less as it pain me to admit it, the goblin's right!" Told Henry Thurgood in his best 'I'm a pureblood and so I'm superior to everyone else'. "Their little trap has no chance against the magical power we brought!"

"Imbecile!" Snarled Sturmwald. "How did you manage to get your curse-breaker license? Until we have found what's waiting for us, we have to assume that they have information about our procedures and formations!"

"Not that this little debate isn't interesting," Interjected Jeremiah Maestro. "But isn't the atmosphere a bit hot suddenly?"

The man's remark hit home. The goblins and the humans had walked for so long at such rapid pace they had missed the warmth which was suddenly engulfing the base of the stairs.

"It comes from the vault 13. I think." Told a goblin on the left.

"What was supposed to be there?" Asked Thurgood, in a tone which made limpid he had not liked at all being insulted in front of everyone.

"Don't know!" Grunted the goblin. "Do I look like the Senior Keeper of the Vaults?"

"You little..."

Henry Thurgood had not the time to finish what was undoubtedly a nasty insult to the goblin. A terrifying bestial noise resonated in the corridors and the stairs, half growl, half whistle. The sound was unnatural and stopped all debate for ten seconds.

"What was that?" Shouted Thurgood.

"Definitely coming from vault 13!" Affirmed the goblin which had just been speaking previously. "Follow me!"

In ten seconds, hundreds of goblins and three dozen humans began to run in a corridor on their right, which led them directly to the entrance of the vault in question. The war cry and the shouts in the nearby corridor told them the rest of the expeditionary force had followed the same reasoning.

At least, what should have been a vault. Alexandra had seen her personal trust vault at Gringotts, and it had been a massive door with runes, mechanisms and other inscriptions to ensure the security of the possessions inside. No door was quite the same at London, but the Potter Heiress imagined a steel door was a steel door, no matter the family who owned the vault.

What was at the end of the hallway in front of them was no door, that much she could tell. It looked like an oil-like substance was covering vertically the door. At the light of the torches and the wizards' wands, the black thing was moving and undulating, making the whistles which had been heard previously. But the detail which made the scene horrible was that the surface was agitated by slight moves, and even with the lack of light Alexandra and the rest of the army present could only watch with a morbid fascination the faces of hundreds of the missing goblins contracting in pain and agony behind this undulating veil.

"STAND TO BATLLE FORMATION! STAND TO BATTLE FORMATION!" The voice of Warfist thundered loud and clear, and thousands of warriors positioned themselves in front of the former vault 13, their spears lowered for battle and their shields locked with their counterparts, presenting a formidable wall of steel and death to anything having the temerity of sallying out the vault.

The great hallway they were currently regrouped in was not enough for the thousands of goblins to position themselves, but goblin archers and the human curse-breakers had already taken the higher ground. At Warfist signal, the first spells and arrows struck the black gate, whereas the rest of the army stood in defensive position.

It had no effect whatsoever on the black substance. Like a black maw, the liquid absorbed everything. The curse-breakers rained down an impressive array of hexes, incantations, jinxes and counter-enchantments, in vain. The arrow were swallowed without difficulty. The only visible effect was the progressive disappearance of the missing goblins face in the depths of whatever vault 13 had become.

"CEASE FIRE!" Shouted Warfist. "STOP SHOOTING! YOU AREN'T DOING...!"

The voice of the general stopped in the middle of the order. Every archer present was unable to shoot his arrows. The wizards' next spells never came.

The black surface which had been so resistant had turned transparent, unveiling what was lying behind it. At first, the wave of warmth and fire was so stunning, nobody managed to see on the other side.

Then a gigantic paw got through the liquid barrier and Alexandra perceived the true face of the enemy. The thing was big, fifteen feet high, maybe higher. It was looking like a salamander she had seen once in a documentary at the Dursleys, but here stopped the similarity. It was formed from flames and shadows. And it was coming straight at them.

The second paw of the salamander entity got through the gate, as did its head making the liquid collapse in a small black wave.

The thing then growled in triumph, opening its maw and showing large fangs which would have made a T-Rex envious and jealous. The temperature rose by several degrees and flames emerged from the interior of the salamander's mouth.

 _A Balrog_. Alexandra thought _. It's exactly like a Balrog. May the Valar..._

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Screamed Warfist. "KILL IT!"

The moment of shock was over, and the goblins charged at the huge salamander with their halberds and their spears, while the wizards unleashed their most powerful spells with devastating accuracy. For a moment, Alexandra believed the entity of fire and shadows was doomed. Surely nothing could survive this combination of weapons and magic!

Apparently, her estimation was deadly wrong. After the first spear and axes strikes, the salamander skin toughened at an amazing speed, becoming so resistant the goblin steel broke against it. The same thing happened to the curses and offensive magic which was sent: each incantation striking was doing little damage, the entity was bleeding some flames and shadow and then the wound cauterised like the mutant Wolverine in Dudley's comics.

After thirty seconds, the salamander, no doubt bored to death by the ridiculous attempts to harm it, finally extracted itself completely from what had been once upon a time a Gringotts vault and counter-attacked.

A hurricane of flames came out the entity's mouth, engulfing the first ranks of the expeditionary force with a fire of near-lava consistence. The first goblins on the path of this devastation died without realising they were doomed. The others tried to evade the torrent of flames, but in a formation so compact, it was impossible. In an instant, the ten first ranks of the goblin army disappeared forever, carbonised.

The salamander growled in amusement, and then impossibly absorbed the magical fire by its mouth and every part of its skin. Of the hundred goblins which had been there previously, not even the bones and ashes remained.

Alexandra froze. She had faced death several times at Hogwarts this past year, but this... this was nothing her mind or magic could beat in a straight-up fight. Watching the salamander growl in defiance, she understood they were all going to die there. This fantastic beast did not seem to make a difference between human and goblins. No weapon they had could work against this thing.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

The goblins roared to answer the salamander's challenge. In a growl which had nothing human in it, Warfist shouted "CHARGE!".

"TO WAR!" Bellowed the thousands of goblins. And the bloodthirsty warriors raced towards the abomination of flames and shadows without any fear, only rage and bloodlust in their hearts.

That was enough for Alexandra. If the goblins wanted to die, then it was their problem, not hers. As the salamander used its enflamed tail to smash a dozen of unfortunate goblins against a wall, she ran in one of the nearby corridors as fast as her tired legs allowed.

It was not the way her and the other humans had used to come to this infernal vault, but right now she didn't care. The only thing which mattered in her mind was putting the maximum of distance between her and that monstrous infernal salamander.

Behind her, she heard the screams of agony, the shouts of defiance, the loud orders of Warfist and his soldiers battling the abomination. Alexandra continued to run, the only light now provided by her wand and the Lumos spell. She passed several crossroads, mounted to volleys of stairs and then stopped, the previous march and the recent run having taken their toll. In the distance, a loud growl echoed, followed by dozens of screams.

Turning to nearby corridor which was mounting in the direction of the surface, the young witch started to breathe a bit more easily. The temperature, which had been so hot near the salamander it was downright hellish, had come back to more lukewarm levels. The pandemonium created by the roars, growls and the racket caused by the weapons and the spells was now low in the distance and decreasing even lower in intensity.

Climbing massive stone stairs which looked like they had been taken recently by a goblin army, or at least the eleven-year old witch hoped so, Alexandra tried to hurry her pace. Despite the admirable and suicidal courage of the goblin warriors, the expeditionary force had more likely than not no chance against this kind of hybrid Balrog-salamander.

With hindsight, she supposed fleeing cowardly in the dark without firing a spell in the enemy's direction was not a glorious thing she would trumpet in the Great Hall of Hogwarts at dinner, but for now staying alive was more important. If curse-breakers with decades of experience at the job of dealing with lethal threats and battle-hardened goblins could not stand against the entity, then she, a non-magical-raised witch with barely nine months of magical education was not going to change the odds. Warfist, Sturmwald and the others potential candidates for Gryffindor could try their best. Alexandra was looking for the exit.

Soon the stairs she took ended and she arrived into corridors growing increasingly larger. The great halls they had passed on their one-way ticket to hell were close, or at least she hoped. The mustering had come too suddenly for her to bring more supplies than a bottle of water and a chocolate bar in her pockets, both of which had been respectively emptied and eaten what seemed to be hours ago. Alexandra had never visited the citadel before, and she totally ignored if there were plans for exceptional visitors. The torches were becoming more frequent, though, which allowed her to stop casting the Lumos.

Finally, the long and large corridors ended and the great halls she had believed to be dwarf-built hours ago started to appear before her tired eyes. The raven-haired witch pressed her walk, almost running now to escape this place which had become a jail in which there was an entity of darkness. Turning a pillar, she began to run with her last forces and...

"No! No!" Alexandra knew there was no one to hear her, but in that particular moment she didn't care. The huge steel gates of Brise-Roc, the last thing separated her from salvation, were closed.

As she approached from the doors, tendrils of black energy became evident, implying that whoever had brought the salamander had also barricaded the doors.

Gathering all her power, Alexandra Potter took her wand, pointed it at the closed gates and shouted "BOMBARDA!"

The Bombardment Charm struck the gate, creating a respectable explosion. She was forced to immediately take cover behind a pillar, however, as one blade of shadow stabbed the place she had occupied seconds before. A grid of darkness materialised in front of the young witch, coating the gates in a darkness-like substance. Looking again, she noticed there was not even a dent on her target.

"I am so screwed..." The green-eyed witch sighed.

Alexandra was alone, the entire expeditionary force was likely dead, and she was trapped inside a fortress with a thing which made the Balrog Gandalf fought in the Moria a minor problem. The Potter Heiress supposed the situation could be worse. In fact no, it couldn't. Being in the position of Sam in the tunnels of Cirith Ungol was not something which could be described as 'good'.

Somehow, she was going to find a solution. Somehow. Amazing at how little these thoughts cheered her up.

 **12 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France**

A loud, shrieking alarm resonated in the corridor the French Ministry reserved to the use of its employees working for the French Goblin Liaison Office.

By treaty, this sound was supposed to inform the wizards and witches working here that one Gringotts fortress located on the French national territory faced a serious attack. In theory, in less than ten minutes the corps of the French _Chasseurs de ténèbres_ , counterparts of the British Aurors, should have been alerted and wizards apparating to defend the citadel wherever the attack was taking place.

Alas, the building in question was empty. All the workers were currently celebrating the birth of the first daughter of one of their members in a bar of Magical Paris. The employees working the week-end, who should have been here to alert the Ministry in case any urgency manifested itself, had falsified their reports to go drinking with his friends, courtesy of a large bribery by a mysterious wizard who happened to be a member of the Exchequer. The replacement was currently in holidays in French Polynesia, drinking coconut juice, the result of a lottery he had won also thanks to a member of the Exchequer.

The alarm sounded for hours, in vain. After the Great Goblin Rebellion of 1791, the wizards had completely isolated this branch of the French _Ministère de la Magie_ in order not to be perturbed by the loud roars and guttural speeches the goblin race was so fond to use in presence of wizards. The other alarms directly linking Brise-Roc to the other goblin citadels under the French territories had already been disconnected of course before the grand plan went into effect.

As it was a Sunday and only minimal work was done (which did not include the Goblin Liaison Office), nobody would know of the alarm before Monday, the thirteenth of July.

No one was aware of the massacre happening in the entrails of Brise-Roc. No help would come. Not in time anyway.

The Exchequer had decided to eliminate the maximum of goblins possible to erase evidence of their activities, and so far the plan was working without a hitch.

 **12 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France**

The noise of foot running on a stone surface awoke her from dark nightmares where she was pursued by the salamander.

Thankfully it was the noise of foots, not the small earthquakes preceding the monster she had truly feared.

Alexandra opened her eyes. Of course, as only a small ray of light came through the massive close doors allowing access to Brise-Roc, her vision took a long time to deal with the lack of light.

The moment of adaptation over, she could see shadows running between the pillars of the main hall. For the first time in several hours, Alexandra smiled. The infernal salamander had not managed to kill every member of the expeditionary force after all. With a bit of luck, some of the survivors might even be able to lift the nasty curse on the gates which barred them from outside.

Deciding it might be prudent to avoid a fight in the dark with potential allies, Alexandra shouted "Survivor over here!" and then shouted "Lumos!".

Alexandra had expected movements to seize the weapons, shouts of anger or surprise. She had not thought to hear several of the unknown sobbing in relief.

One look at the arriving group when they came into the range of her Lumos spell after a whole minute was enough to see why.

There were a dozen goblins in front of her, all looking like the salamander had used them as toys and then discarded when they were damaged enough. Behind them, came two makeshift stretchers improvised with goblin halberds, spears and canvas used on tents or elsewhere carried by four more goblins looking less crippled than the others. On the stretchers, were Warfist and another goblin Alexandra couldn't remember the name.

The latter had lost one arm, one leg and was burnt to a high degree over all his body. Warfist had not lost any limb, but the shape of his right leg suggested it was broken and there were severe marks of burnings on his head, arms and legs, giving him the appearance of a lobster more than a goblin. Both were unconscious.

Finally came behind them Louis De Male Foi, one of the French cursed-breakers. The wizard had two dirty scars on his face, his blond hair were a mess, he was walking with difficulty and one of his arm was immobilised with a sort of magical plaster. Moreover, his usual arrogance was completely absent and he was looking like a man who had been revealed all the nightmares under his bed were true.

That was all. She counted nineteen goblins and a single human facing her. A very small contingent, when hours before the expeditionary force had counted thousands of the former and several dozens of the latter.

"Where...where is the rest? Where is the army?" Asked Alexandra hesitantly.

"We are the army, human." Rasped one of the goblins. "We are all what is left of the expeditionary force." And to stress the point, he collapsed to the ground, having evidently no forces left.

"How did you manage to survive when so many of our best warriors perished?" Asked another goblin, looking at her in anger.

"I fled." She replied.

"Typical of your back-stabbing and cowardly race!" Sneered a goblin who had been carried the stretcher of his commander. "Our race doesn't flee! We fight! We..." This effort had been too much, and the goblin fell unconscious, only caught up in time by one of his nearby companions.

"I suppose the gates are closed?" Asked a goblin who was less wounded than the rest of the survivors.

"Locked and trapped." Confirmed Alexandra. " Does here anyone has a sort of pass or magical command to open the gates?"

"Warfist had one." Answered the goblin, clearly uncomfortable. "He left it with Burklurk when the fight began. And Burklurk is..." The goblin shivered and wasn't able to finish this sentence. Whatever had happened to Burklurk, it had not been a pleasant end.

After this, most goblins sat in a circle on the ground and engaged in a long conversation in their own language, Gobbledegook, that sounded like a lot of grunts, growls and rasps. The rest were already sleeping or unconscious. The salamander had really done a number on them.

Seeing her presence was not wanted, Alexandra returned to her former position against the pillar. She could have cancelled the Lumos spell but she had sufficiently slept in the last break, and the presence of these goblins a few meters away scared her. Not because she felt they were going to kill her. Given the injuries they had, it was likely she could take them single-handily without her wand or any magic. But if the goblin army was all dead, it meant the flame demon was free to pursue the survivors. And if it was...

"What exactly did you do to the doors, girl?"

Alexandra was brutally interrupted in her thoughts by the voice of someone. Looking up, she looked straight at the eyes of a furious French wizard.

"I shot a Bombardment Charm at the door, Sir." She replied in her best ironic tone and insisting mockingly on the "Sir". "Was there anything else?"

The shoulders of Louis De Male Foi went down at that declaration. "Ce n'est pas normal!" She heard him whisper. "Elle aurait du déclencher l'alarme..."

As it was in French, Alexandra did not understand a word of what the man had said but it didn't look good. Turning her head, she saw Male Foi limping towards the group of goblins, kneeling one of the most muscled one and telling him a few words in his pointed ear.

Whatever was told had the merit to brutally stop all the goblin mutterings.

The muscled goblin debited a court and loud speech in Gobbledegook, which made several of the sentinel goblins moan. Not good news, then.

"RALLY!" Shouted after long seconds the goblin who looked to be the new commander. "RALLY!"

Alexandra groaned and stood slowly on her foot. Everywhere, the sleeping goblins woke up, emitting loud groans or protests.

"We have a problem!" Continued the goblin once the group of nineteen goblins and two humans had gathered around him.

ROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

In the distance, everyone saw a brief eruption of blame and light. The temperature in the hall, which had been rather cold compared to the warm summer outside, rose up by several degrees.

"The Summon found us!" Shouted Male Foi.

"Summon?" Asked Alexandra.

The last piece clicked in her head. Knight Summoner. That was the name found in Devkins papers by Hermione. Now, Alexandra knew why.

"Called it like you want." Replied the French wizard. "Demon. Being of another plane. Summon."

"Your race has forbidden any use of this magic and destroyed the knowledge as best as it could." Said the muscled goblin. "Summoning an entity from another place is punishable by death since the Fall of Atlantis."

"The last person to use them was Morgana Le Fay at Camlann." Said Male Foi in a sinister and grim tone. "At the time they caused untold devastation in the ranks of the Knights of the Round Table."

"I'm sure we are all happy to know this now Steelfang!" Snarled the injured goblin who had previously treated Alexandra of coward." Does someone know a means to get rid of this thing?"

"The Hammer of Judgement did not work against the Summon." The goblin named Steelfist sent a glare to his injured soldier that made him retreat from three steps. "In fact, the temperature around this thing is simply too hot for the Judgement to unleash its power!"

"Then extinguish his flames."

All the goblins turned their head towards Alexandra, who realised after a moment of silence she had just blurted her thoughts out loud.

"We tried to douse it with Aguamenti spells, young girl." Sighed Male Foi, looking with fear in the distance at the flame signalling the presence of the salamander of darkness. "Nothing worked. These flames are something on the level of Fiendfyre."

"Surely a large fortress of ours like Brise-Roc has large reserves of waters somewhere." Protested a goblin on Male Foi's right.

"It might be the best plan at our disposition." Said Steelfang. "At least it should give us a chance to weaken enough this Summon and strike the killing blow with the Judgement."

"And what do you make of the link this thing has with another plane of existence?" Asked weakly Male Foi. "If it's not cut, the Summon will regenerate endlessly, no matter what kind of damage you do!"

"That might be a problem." Admitted Steelfang, polishing absently the handle of his axe.

"Let's divide into two groups then." Proposed a goblin who looked more roasted than alive. "One will attract the monster in the reservoir. The other will try to find and close the breach by which the Summon came."

"Closing the breach implies going back into the lower vaults!" Protested Male Foi. "That and nobody here know how to stop a Summoning. Let's admit you find the breach. What are you going to do?"

"Improvise." Said Alexandra, having decided in the mean time everything was better than to play the bait with the demon which made a Balrog inoffensive.

"I will need a goblin to guide me and open the vaults." She said to Steelfang.

"I will go with you, human." Affirmed the warrior goblin. "I am the only one here alive to have seen the plans of the fortress in its entirety."

"Gurblak!" Barked Steelfang. "Delay the Summon until we comes back! Keep Warfist alive and the Judgement intact. If you don't, I will rip your throat out myself!"

The soldier goblin half-opened his mouth in protest at the impossible order but at the angered expression of his chief thought better of it and nodded in resigned acceptation.

Turning towards Alexandra, the goblin snarled: "Run human!"

The young witch didn't need to be told a second time. The Summon was at the other extremity of the gigantic wall by now, and it looked bigger than at the time of the fight in the depths of the mountain. Maybe sixteen or seventeen feet in height. Steelfang ran. Alexandra ran behind him. All the while behind them, the roars of challenge of the fire salamander resonated and the survivors of the expeditionary force fled to save their lives.

 **13 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France**

"If a high-level incident has happened to our expeditionary force, I can assure you there will be repercussions!" Shouted the goblin representative of Gringotts Paris, storming in fury out of the Minister office.

René De Ségur, Minister of Magical France, exhaled a loud breath and tried to resist the temptation of putting his head in his hands. One day before France's fête nationale, the last thing France and the wizarding population needed was a Goblin Rebellion.

"Tell Directeur Delacour to come here immediately. And alert all our military forces. We have a Level 1 alert." He said to his secretary who had just accompanied the irate goblin out of his office.

"Oui, Monsieur."

 **13 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France**

"Are you sure we are not a bit lost?" Asked Alexandra to the disgruntled goblin.

Steelfang didn't answer.

"I was just asking, you know."

"And your questions have been ignored, human." Grumbled the goblin, who walked away in the dark corridor, forcing Alexandra to quicken her pace to follow him.

Their march led them to another vault, which looked indistinguishable from the dozens others they had taken before. Hopefully, this was the one which had been used to summon the huge Salamander.

Of course, she had thought the same thing for the twenty or so vaults they had already opened. So far, each time had been met by a failure. Or at least she supposed there had been failures. Any attempt to communicate with the goblin who was her guide had been answered by sarcastic comments, vague remarks and mutterings in goblin language.

The door of the new vault opened in an atrocious, strident noise, letting the now usual green smoke indicating the protections of Gringotts had held for this particular part of the fortress. One more failure, then. But as the smoke dissipated in a matter of seconds, what appeared before her eyes was far from a portal leading to another dimension or piles of gold and silver coins.

From top to bottom, this gigantic vault was bristling with weapons. Thousands of weapons. Axes, halberds, swords and spears. Bows, crossbows and arbalests. Armours of different eras, sizes and materials. Jewels shining from vast and dangerous magical power. Hammer and flags decorated with mysterious runes but generating strong winds of magic from their current location. This was anything but a normal vault. This was a war arsenal. And it had the size of a football stadium.

Turning her head to the goblin who had taken place to her left, Alexandra could not stop herself to ask:

"Remind me what we are searching again?"

"A means to destroy the abomination in our citadel, of course." Replied the goblin, for once in an honest tone and without detour.

"I thought we were supposed to..."

"Find the place from where the Summon came and destroy the source of its power?" Finished Steelfang with a small rumble which was the equivalent for the goblin of a laugh. "And how do you want to proceed, human?"

Alexandra opened her mouth... and closed it. The warrior goblin had a point, damn him. She didn't know anything about the magical entity, its weaknesses or how to banish it from the fortress. For all she knew, cutting the salamander from its place of summon would make it stronger, which of course assumed they managed this minor exploit in the first place. Speaking of which...

"Let's say you're right." Alexandra told Steelfang. "Have you got a plan of replacement? Because unless my memory is wrong, the other survivors of the group are just making a diversion at this moment and they're going to die if we do nothing!"

"The others are already condemned." Said the strong goblin advancing in the vault towards a series of magical axes emanating an odour of ozone. "All we can do is ensuring their sacrifice is not in vain. Welcome to the secret armoury of our fortress, the one we only open in a time of great peril."

"And losing several hours to find an armoury which is filled with weapons entirely useless against this creature of flames and shadows is supposed to help us?" Asked Alexandra in a sceptical voice. "By the Valar, you couldn't even slow this monster in the first fight and you had an entire army at your side!"

At this, Steelfang stopped his examination of a huge silver spear to turn around and face her in the eyes.

"Goblins do not run, human. Goblins do not surrender. If this Summon wants a fight, then by the Fist of Ragnok the First I will give it one." And the light in his eyes gave a pretty good indication this was not a subject of discussion.

"Fine." The young witch emitted a loud breath. Arguing would lead her nowhere. It was clear the goblin had decided to die in a futile and useless assault against the demon. Who knows, maybe he and his friends had just decided in the Great Hall of the fortress in which order they were going to search the monster and challenge it in duel? Anyway, a great remainder that the being in front of her was definitely not a human, and never will be one.

"Any idea what sort of weapon should I choose?" Her eyes wandered about the uncountable number of sharp objects disposed in front of her in neat lines.

"Take a dagger or a short sword, human." Said the goblin in a calmer tone and pointing with his right hand a section of the vault.

Alexandra turned her head to watch, only to realise what she had taken for a helpful comment was exactly the opposite. This section of the vault, which could have absorbed the Dursley's house without any difficulty, was the deposit of thousands of daggers, knifes and short-ranged weapons.

"How am I supposed to make a choice in this pile of sharp things?" The Potter Heiress muttered, taking great care of not being heard by the warrior goblin.

One look behind told her she might have shouted her comment, Steelfang was completely absorbed by a choice between two great axes and looked to have forgotten Alexandra's presence. Rolling her shoulders, Alexandra started to explore the vault.

To the Ravenclaw witch's great annoyance, the task itself revealed extremely difficult. If at the front of the vault the goblins (or whoever they had used to clean the area) had been relatively organised, placing the weapons in neat lines with great alleys for a normal human to walk and objects of the same type together. But the furthest away the green-eyed girl walked from the door, the impression was the persons charged to organise had decided to abandon their duty and just throw the swords and spears everywhere without care. Axes covered by dozen of daggers. Hammers mixed with swords.

Having passed this area, she walked fifty meters or so, marvelling how vast the vault was. A spell must have been used to make it greater in the inside than the outside. It was the only logical explanation.

Anything like order was abandoned in this place. The common point between the objects gathered in great piles, heaps and clusters was that there were objects of destruction. There were non-magical guns. Wizards and witches wands, some so old there was dust everywhere when she tried to touch one. Enormous staffs. Rifles of several centuries. Large halberds. Explosives (she stayed far away from the box labelled in large red letters TNT). Potion vials containing liquids she had no idea what use they could be given the derelict state of their glass container. Hundreds of muskets, old-style cannons, runic circles were everywhere.

"I didn't find the alchemy notes I was looking for," she said aloud, "but if I had the capacity to take these weapons, I would have the capacity to arm a very respectable army."

Giving a last glance to an axe which had certainly been the personal weapon of a giant (because who else would have handled a six feet-tall axe?), Alexandra's attention was attracted by a flash of silver on her right.

Advancing towards it, she came face to face with a stone sculpture of a beautiful woman. No, not a woman. The sculpture of an angel. With closed eyes and great large wings, the realisation was breathtaking. The being who had created it had been so successful one could believe the angel was instants away to open its eyes and came to life.

In its hands, the sculpture held a platter of silver colour. Upon which there was a magnificent one-handed sword.

Alexandra had never pretended to be an expert, but this weapon was really of a price defying imagination. The pommel was gold and had a shining emerald incrusted in it with two dragons, one silver, one gold, circling around the jewel. The hilt was also decorated with two silver dragons. The blade itself was reflecting her image like a mirror. Its edge was so sharp her eyes had difficulties seeing where the sword ended.

Upon reflection, the last point was definitely weird. Looking in the vicinity, all the objects looked to be hundreds of years old, with the dust and the lack of maintenance which went with it. So why did this sword was looking like it had just been forged? And why did the figure of the angel looked so familiar? She was sure to have seen it somewhere, but where?

RRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!

"It found us so soon?" Alexandra supposed her question would be classified by future historians as one of the most useless in human history, but at that moment, she didn't care.

The salamander had found them while they were inside the vault, and if the defences of the vault didn't hold her life expectancy would be measured in minutes. Rushing towards the stone angel, Alexandra took the silver sword and ran in the direction she had just come from.

Alexandra had taken more or less half an hour to reach the location of the stone angel in her exploration of the vault. By her reckoning, less than five minutes were necessary to come back to the entrance.

Unfortunately, it did not look like her speed was going to make the difference. Rushing along an alley of swords, she arrived just in time to see Steelfang charge straight at the opened maw of the salamander with one axe in each of his hands. The left axe was shining of an ice corona. The right one was launching bright lightning.

The war cry of the goblin warrior, while fairly loud, did not seem to faze the salamander one bit. The Summon erupted an inferno of dark flames from every part of its body, which consumed the goblin in one instant. Alexandra had two full alleys between her and the flames, and even then she felt the terrible warmth propagated by this unnatural fire.

Then the salamander posed its demonic eyes on her. Despite every experience she had endured at Hogwarts in one year, Alexandra recoiled under what she saw in the eyes of the entity. Death. Death, an eternity or torment and chaos. The Summon was not simply a being from another plane. It was a force of evil, older than the time humans were sticking stones together to get fire. It was a true monster, the reason why the humans fear adventuring alone in the darkness. The kind of force there was no prayer to protect against.

"Well, if I have to die..." Alexandra shouted in defiance. "You will have to do it properly. I am not going to do the work for you. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!"

Deep in her heart Alexandra knew she had no chance. An entire army had failed to stop this evil. But with no safety exits, the salamander was going to find and kill her. If she had to die as the last member of House Potter, she would face her death weapon in hands, not in a hole trying to crawl away.

The big demon of flames and shadows roared in defiance, emitting a shockwave of fire which missed her by inches. The reality shimmered and vacillated. Powerful wards and magical defences ruptured and shattered as the colossal entity poured its wrath in the flames.

Unsheathing her wand and her new sword, Alexandra screamed "Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass!"

And the world exploded in flames.

 **13 July 1992, Approaches of Brise-Roc Fortress, France**

"The gates of Brise-Roc are completely closed, Monsieur." Said the young employee of the French Ministry. "The ward-masters and curse-breakers are confident they will be able to break the dark protections which are sealing the fortress from the outside world, but it's going to take hours!"

"Merde!" Shouted Armand Delacour. The Directeur of the French _Chasseurs de ténèbres_ was usually a jovial man, who was widely appreciated by his subordinates and the different institutions ruling Magical France. However, even he had his bad days. And in that case, it was better to be far away.

"We don't have days! Half of the goblins on our soil want scapegoats for this complete disaster and the rest are sharpening the pikes for our heads! We need to move NOW!"

"But Monsieur..." The poor employee did not know any spell to make himself invisible, but under the murderous look of his boss, he was quite ready to learn. "The first estimations of our team are that the cursed wards which were activated after the expeditionary force entered the citadel are of a power and a complexity they have never seen in their life! In fact they believe some of the goblins were still outside the fortress when the trap started, and that they were destroyed by this dark magic."

"Very well," Sighed Armand Delacour, calming a bit at the explanations delivered in a frantic voice. "Still, we have to..."

Whatever the Directeur had been about to say, his subordinate would never know.

A piercing noise, horrible and shivering, resonated loudly in the valley, forcing every living being in the area to cover its ears in pain. And then, as if the noise had been only a prelude, the mountain itself exploded in an inferno of flames and molten rocks, burning the valley in a spectacular firework no human artist would have been able to create.

"APPARATE AWAY! NOW!" Shouted Armand Delacour.

The other French wizards had no need to be encouraged by their superior. Facing a flamboyant death if they stayed at their post, most of them had already escaped.

Hours later as the sun sets, the phenomena was deemed enough stabilised for Delacour and more than four hundred wizards to come again, obliviate any Muggle in the vicinity who had noticed the huge eruption and extinguish any fires with dozen of overpowered Aguamenti and other water-based incantations.

But for the fortress of Brise-Roc, there was nothing the French elite wizards could do. Where had once been a citadel making the pride of the goblin race, now there was only a smoking crater and a crumbling mountain.

"Massive breach of the Statute of Secrecy and a potential Goblin Revolt. In one incident. This is going to be one of those weeks at work..." Whispered Armand Delacour.

 **The End?**

 **Here Book 1 of** _ **The Odds were never in my favour**_ **,** _ **Alexandra Potter and the Exchequer's Shadow**_ **, ends.**

 **The story will continue in Book 2,** _ **Alexandra Potter and the Blood of Slytherin**_ **.**


	21. The Aftershocks of Brise-Roc

**Chapter 21**

 **The Aftershocks of Brise-Roc**

 **14 July 1992, Unknown Location**

"So by all accounts, you Majesty, the operation was an outstanding success. Brise-Roc is no more. The Goblin Expeditionary Force has been utterly demolished. Our organisation has taken possession of several priceless magical artefacts and a comfortable quantity of gold. We have dealt a heavy blow to the branch of the Gringotts Paris, which is going to offer interesting opportunities for the middle-term plans already activated. Best of all, the bankers have been unable to realise we gave them back alchemical gold. One of the great plans has been validated."

There was no evil laughter at the end of the red robed figure's announcement, but no one could have missed the satisfaction in the way the words were pronounced.

"You have done well Knight Summoner." The dark figure on the throne emitted an almost imperceptible nod in the halo of darkness. "Are there any survivors able to talk about what happened inside the citadel?"

"Unfortunately, yes, your Majesty. When the French arrived with their chasseurs and their curse-breakers, I was forced to bring back the Summon back to its plane of origin and overload the wards system of the fortress. Alas, there were four beings still alive inside it when it happened and I have good information two of them are detained in the Magical Hospital of Paris."

"Regrettable." Said the grey-masked figure on the right of the throne.

"Not really, my Queen." Said one of the figures wearing light green robes.

"Explain."

"The first, a goblin, is not expected to last the week due to the terrible injuries he suffered against the Summon of our esteemed colleague. As for the other, the curse-breaker Louis de Male Foi is still in a comatose state. He may never wake up to tell what he saw."

"And if he does?"

"I have placed an explosive runic circle nearby." Said the figure dissimulated by red robes. "If he wakes up, I'll send him back directly to his ancestors."

"And the two other beings which were inside the citadel at the moment of the explosion?"

"Regretfully, we have no idea of their whereabouts." Admitted the Knight Summoner.

"I would not worry about it too much, your Majesty." Said the green-robed individual. Seeing the attention focusing in his direction, the being continued. "Knight Summoner has transformed the citadel into a crater where nothing alive can possibly have survived. The most probable explanation is that the two other living magical signatures which were detected perished when the wards exploded. That, or they were buried under the mountain when it exploded. To be honest, I'm astonished they found two survivors out of four!"

"And if someone survived?" Insisted the grey figure.

"Frankly, my Queen, it might be to our advantage. The fools of the ICW have been extremely efficient in wiping out the magical knowledge they judged too dangerous for their weak powers to handle. Assuming they found a Summon was used to destroy these miserable vermin we call goblins, they will soon realise they have nothing to oppose us. In this case, there is the delicious possibility they will surrender immediately when we will come out the shadows!"

"Perhaps." Said the dark figure on the throne. "Or perhaps not. I'm not willing to base our plans on such hopes, rumours and speculations, Knight Informer. If you find any goblin or human has survived to tell the world what happened, you eliminate the survivor and make sure to pass it for a tragic accident."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Now, let's pass to another subject. How goes our efforts to explore the ruins of the Han dynasty?"

"Not very well." Answered a being in azure robes who had until then stayed silent. "I've lost two squads of local curse-breakers in the last month, and so far we have only managed to recover third-rate artefacts from it. Much less I want to admit it, it does look this quest is more and more a dead end."

"Continue your work for one more month, Knight Explorer. If there is no major achievement at that date, terminate the project. Now, let's discuss our involvement in the Middle East..."

 **14 July 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Albus Dumbledore had decades of experience in political infighting, backroom dealings and negotiations with characters the majority of the wizarding world was happy to kill first and ask questions later. The number of times he had lost his temper in this last decade could be counted on one hand.

However, as the door of his office closed on his latest visitor, his self-control broke, the dam of his calm forged by a century of life exploding under the fury of his emotions. Taking the pile of books which had been just left on his desk, the old and venerable headmaster proceeded to launch them one by one on the opposite wall, ripping their pages, blasting them with his wand, cutting the covers with original curses most of witches and wizards had forgotten their very existence. All the while, the self-proclaimed 'Leader of the Light' screamed a torrent of insults which would have made many Death Eaters stare open-mouthed in stupefaction. With a swiftness and an agility every person of his age would have envied, Albus proceeded to kick the last book like a ball of football all over the office, only pausing mere moments to throw more curses at the different books and trampling them.

This surge of fury lasted no more than five minutes, but the pile of books which had just been the target of Dumbledore hadn't survived it. There were now no more than confetti of paper, pulverised by the wrath of the man who was undoubtedly at present the most powerful wizard of the British Isles.

His fury abated and satiated for the time being, Dumbledore posed his wand on his desk and then sat in his comfortable chair, the weight of the years heavier than ever after having unleashed his rage.

"Each year, finding a new teacher for the post of the Defence Against the Dark Arts is getting more difficult." Sighed Albus Dumbledore. "Tell me Fawkes, why do I keep this class when I know very well Tom has cursed the position?"

The phoenix, who had remained silent when the Headmaster vented his frustration, trilled in sorrow.

"You're right. Cancelling the class would be admitting defeat to Tom and all the wizards and witches who followed him."

There were more practical considerations, of course. First, the Board of Governors, allergic to everything which more or less looked like an innovation or a tool to break the status quo, had outright refused to modify the name of the class or to create another course which would deliver the same teachings. So much of his efforts had already been consumed by the need to find funds for the school brooms and Quidditch was the popular pastime by excellence!

The second reason why the class of Defence against the Dark Arts still existed was stemming from his incomplete knowledge of the curse the Dark Lord had used. It might be possible changing the name of the course or altering the curriculum would end the problem once for all. But it was far from certain, and Tom Marvollo Riddle had been one of the most brilliant students in Hogwarts long and distinguished history. In spite of, or perhaps because the dark rituals and research that had given birth to the Dark Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore was ready to bet his left hand the person who had engineered the opening of the Chamber of Secrets on his fifth year would have anticipated such an obvious move.

And finally, there was a more personal reason for Albus: pride. Labelled a genius and one of the most brilliant minds of Magical England in his youth, he had found for the first time in decades a challenge in trying to break the curse Tom had created. Changing the class would be an admission of defeat, and Albus Dumbledore was not feeling vanquished at all. There were more mysterious paths of magic he had not explored, more combinations and enchantments which had not been tested. Sooner or later, Albus would find the solution. And then his triumph over Tom Riddle would be complete. Hiring a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and one assistant every year was well worth the potential award.

Or at least it had been until this morning. With the death of Senior Professor Quirell at the hands of Neville Longbottom and Junior Professor Devkins at the hands of Alexandra Potter, Dumbledore had been in need of finding two new teachers to fill the DADA slots. In spite of the fact the deaths of the two men had not been publicly announced, the rumours of their brutal demise had spread everywhere, making the applicants a rarity. There had been three demands for the job of Junior DADA Professor, perhaps because the position had in some occasions left its titular teacher last more than a year. There had been none for the job of Senior Professor, which had left very little latitude for Albus to refuse meeting Gilderoy Lockhart when the famous author had requested an appointment for today.

After one and a half hour with him, Albus knew he should have tried to delegate somehow this task to Minerva. With so many students at Hogwarts, he vaguely remembered Lockhart as a Ravenclaw youngster who had one day tried to create a school newspaper. His academic record was best characterised as unremarkable: seven OWLS and four NEWTS. After his graduation, he had travelled outside the country like many wizards and witches today and had not garnered any attention before publishing his first book _Break with A Banshee_ , which had quickly become a bestseller.

Albus had not personally read any of the nine books Lockhart had published so far, his numerous positions leaving him too little time for sensational reading. In his mind, he freely admitted he had been completely unprepared for the monster of narcissism and arrogance that had passed the gates of Hogwarts. As Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore had met a lot of politicians in love with their own image, but Lockhart was beating all their efforts of self-magnification without much effort. He had greeted Dumbledore like he was doing him a favour by the simple act of being in his presence, and thorough the meeting had literally bombarded Albus with pointed suggestions how he would be able to do a more efficient job than him, if the fight against the forces of evil didn't take all his time.

 _What had happened to you, Gilderoy_ , thought Dumbledore. You were sorted in Ravenclaw, when did you develop this thirst of power and fame which are the priced qualities of Slytherin House?

Albus didn't know the answers to these questions, but he had ended this meeting with the knowledge Gilderoy Lockhart had to be stopped. No need to read any of his books to know they would be utter and complete nonsense, a fertile material to poison the minds of the young and the old of the British Isles. As Grand Sorcerer, it was his duty to act before it was too late, and Gilderoy had provided him the stick to beat him.

Albus was realist enough to know Lockhart had demanded an appointment in order to glorify himself in his next interview with the Daily Prophet, not because he wanted the Defence job. But he had officially made the demand, and Albus was going to grant him his wish. It would be the perfect means to demolish his fraudulent reputation and this extra-dimensioned ego. Moreover, it would provide to young Neville Longbottom the perfect example of how fame and celebrity could destroy someone. Kill two owls bearing bad the news with the same stone, to use a popular expression. Perhaps, even a third, as the Houses typically aligned with Ravenclaw at the Wizengamot had been far from pleased with him when their children had reported to their parents he had awarded unilaterally the House Cup to Gryffindor. Dirtying the name of Lockhart by revealing how far the rot had spread, one alumni of their own House, would force them back into far more pleasing dispositions.

Yes, concluded Albus. This plan was good, and would place his pieces in good position for the future events he had planned in the years to come. With Arthur Weasley about to pass with his faction several pro-Muggle laws, Albus was going to strike down a heavy blow to the pureblood cause. Defeat by defeat, the Dark and Grey factions were going to lose ground, until they had no choice but to stop their ridiculous attachment to obsolete traditions.

"The things I do for the Greater Good," smiled Albus. "Lemon drop, Fawkes?" The phoenix trilled in alarm, agitating vigorously his beak in a negative manner.

"Phoenixes not liking lemon are one of the things I will never understand." Sighed the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

After the last school year, Albus had hoped he would soon have sorbets of Elixir of Life instead of lemon, but the Philosopher Stone secret requirements had proven too Dark to handle it safely. Too bad. It was only a temporary reverse anyway, soon the men in his employ in the Netherlands would find a way to create one in service of the Light.

Standing up, Albus Dumbledore decided to communicate his decision to Minerva McGonagall as soon as he came back from this extraordinary ICW summit at Geneva. It seemed the French had a breach of the Statute of Secrecy on their hand, courtesy of the Exchequer, and Dumbledore was salivating at the idea of fuelling the flames against his most tenacious political opponents. The French, not the Exchequer.

The Chief Warlock was not worried about the latter for completely logical reasons. While individually skilled, after such an open action, the Dark Organisation would go back to the shadows and not move for the next decades. They always operated the same way. In time, they would pay for the death of Nicholas and his wife, of course. But it was a problem that would be dealt in due time. The French and quite a few other political enemies came first.

Rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the one-sided political match that was about to occur, Dumbledore took his wand and promptly made disappear the remnants of Lockhart books under the inquisitive eye of the former headmasters and headmistresses.

Then Fawkes flew over his head and Dumbledore seized him by the leg. Both phoenix and Headmaster disappeared in a column of fire.

 **14 July 1992, Gringotts Bank, London**

"Gringotts is as silent as a tomb, these days." Affirmed Senior Accountant Grimjaw, posing his cup of ale after having gulped a sip of it.

"Can you blame our colleagues, Grimjaw?" Asked Senior Accountant Toughclaw. "After what happened at Brise-Roc, every clan we have in Europe fears he is next on the list!"

"No." Grumbled Grimjaw. "No, I don't blame them. We lost close to ten thousand members of our race in less than a month and two entire clans were wiped out. Anybody, even humans, would feel a bit shocked in these circumstances."

Both goblins exchanged amused looks. Humans did not value the lives of their own species, that was a fact the bankers of Gringotts had learnt centuries ago.

"And the girl?"

"Has still not given any sign of life." Sighed Grimjaw. "She's still alive, I'm certain of it; otherwise her ancestral vault's blood protections would have been deactivated and the Ministry would be camping in my office to take the money of her family. But I have no idea where she is, and the ten times-damned treaties with the Ministry forbid me to send owls or hire any mercenary help to search her."

"At least she's alive." Said Toughclaw. "I have heard enough rumours about Ironrage being on the warpath and passing his wrath on a dozen of his subordinates. He didn't take the loss of so many curse-breakers in one expedition very well."

Grimjaw found himself nodding despite himself. He did not like Ironrage very much, the Senior Manager responsible to recruit and assign the human Curse-breakers had a very nasty temper and crossing him had resulted too often in the loss of a limb for the unfortunate who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. But even him had to recognise losing an entire curse-breaking team, through it had been only a poor one, tended to generate an amount of paperwork close to a small mountain. Not to mention he would have to hire the replacements.

"I would not have expected him to act so concerned." Remarked Grimjaw. "We suspected these humans to be thieves and to pass critical information on the Ministry and other parties, remember? With them dead, the problem has been buried. Permanently."

"But them dead, we will never know who the other parties and their contacts in the Ministry were, "remarked Toughclaw."Ah, well. Nothing to do but wait they try again to place their spies in the bank."

"And hope we catch them in the act." Approved Grimjaw. "Still, I doubt you invited me in your office just to share the latest news of what happened in France."

"Indeed not. There have been some discrete inquiries about House Potter's status on marriage contracts."

"Interesting." Said Grimjaw. "Do you know which families made the demand?"

"I do not." Admitted bitterly Toughclaw. "You know as well as I how weakened the Rosier family is. In fact, if I did not have sources of mine in the Inheritance Department, I would have never learnt of it!"

This was a particular sore point for both of them, thought Grimjaw. After the humans had finished to slaughter themselves in 1981, the aftermath had been terrible in Gringotts. About three dozen major pure-blood families had been completely annihilated, and major Houses which had been around since the sixteenth century had been declared extinct. The possessions of several Houses had been seized or joined with other minor Houses, and several prominent Senior Accountants had been challenged by ambitious youngsters for their jobs. Many of the old generation had perished under the blades of the young.

Grimjaw and Toughclaw had both survived, but it had been a very near thing, especially in Toughclaw's case. In fact, if not for the fact Alexandra Potter and William Rosier were still alive to take the mantle of their respective families lordships in time, it was highly likely the duels would have been much more numerous to fight... and the survival chances of the Senior Accountants much slimmer.

That was not to say their influence and position had not suffered over the years. Alexandra Potter had been unreachable until her arrival at the entrance of Gringotts last year, and she was the last of her line. William Rosier, a boy who would enter Hogwarts on September, was the last male descendant of the main line, living with an old and half-insane aunt. There were a few cousins in the Malfoy, Lestrange and other pure-blood families, but they didn't carry the name. Thus no way to regain any prestige.

"I will try to make a bit of inquiry on my own. Not that I would worry much. Dumbledore has not advertised it, but everyone in the Wizengamot knows he's the magical guardian of the Heiress. And he has constantly tried to pass laws in order to break the custom of marriage contracts this last decade, so I do not think he will give any agreement for the foreseeable future.

As for the Heiress herself, my impression of her is not one who will tolerate being melded in the character these pure-blood fools expect of their women."

A large grimace on Toughclaw's face indicated Grimjaw had touched a sensitive subject.

"Don't tell me..."

"The boy came three days ago." Grumbled Toughclaw. "You know, I had so much hope for the last of the Rosier line! But his aunt has trained him well. The perfect little monster, seeing anybody but his and his relatives as beasts. No skill in finance, I could see that when I opened him the ledgers. Only interested in the point he will never lack any money no matter what he does. He withdrew two thousand galleons for his shopping in Diagon Alley! Two thousand galleons!" Toughclaw shook his head. "Knowing I survived because of this pathetic and miserable imbecile makes be grateful none of my children chose to follow my path. When I die, I do not want them to be at the mercy of this human's survival!"

"Assuming he lives that long." Remarked Grimjaw.

"Yes." Acknowledged Toughclaw. "And what are the chances of that?"

 **16 July 1992, Oxford, England**

Sitting on a comfortable chair, Gilderoy Lockhart savoured his glass of wine in the warmth of the July sun on the glass of his comfortable mansion. With two floors and a large propriety, he congratulated himself to have bought this former propriety of the McKinnon family. The price had been extravagant, but while it was about sixteen miles away from the centre of Oxford the calm and the beauty of the place were without equal. Muggle repulsive Charms helped though, as did Space Expansion wards.

Over his head, the sky was a perfect blue so rarely seen in England and the large park around his home was bristling with various shades of green. Really a perfect time to be outside and profit from the superb weather.

A loud 'POP!' out of the wards announced the arrival of the visitor he had waited for the better part of the morning.

"Well?" Lockhart asked.

"See by yourself." Replied his interlocutor, sending him the edition of the Daily Prophet of today. Unfolding it, Gilderoy Lockhart did not miss a flamboyant picture in front of him in the first page, along with the major headline: "Lockhart accepts DADA's post at Hogwarts!".

Gilderoy smiled. "So Dumbledore has taken the bait? Excellent."

"For all his experience and influence his politics, the great Albus Dumbledore has many weaknesses which can be exploited in certain occasions." Replied the other man in an ironic tone. "Not showing him any respect is in general a good way to rile him up."

"I'm so glad you find it amusing, Jones." Said Lockhart. "It's not you who will be next to him ten months of the year!"

Curbing his head in mockery, Hendryk Jones let a small smile come to his lips. It did not fool Gilderoy Lockhart, though. Fifth in the hierarchy of the Magical Intelligence Bureau (more commonly known as the MIB), Jones was responsible of all the official and secret operations made by the Union of the Magical American States (or UMAS) in Europe. He was Lockhart's chief... and a very dangerous man, as several dozen rogue wizards languishing in the Americans prisons could have very vigorously attested.

"In all seriousness, Gilderoy, I know this mission can be incredibly risky." Admitted Jones. "It's likely your cover identity will be one of a fraud and a liar by the end of Hogwarts school year. Our informers have already signs Dumbledore will move in this direction. Not immediately perhaps, but by February or March he will address the British Wizengamot on the issue."

"Him destroying my cover persona doesn't bother me." Admitted Lockhart. "In fact, I would be ready to thank him for this! I always disliked writing this nonsense about magical creatures, perfuming like a woman every day and spending a quarter of the book money in beauty products! I'm more worried about him deciding to resort to a direct magical offensive and finding me tied up in his office waiting for his pet Death Eater to administer Veritaserum."

Gilderoy knew his turn had been considerably bitterer towards the end, but he didn't really care. Having been sorted in 1975 in Ravenclaw as a half-blood student, he had been more often than not on the receiving end of the curses of several pure-blood Slytherins and their friends, including one Severus Snape. The fact that so many of his former tormentors had then gone growing the ranks of the Death Eaters, committing slaughters and massacres for their horrible ideology had convinced him fleeing to America was the best solution. That so many of these killers had then gone away without any trial had convinced him Magical Britain was a place which it was best to stay away.

"I understand. And yes, before you say otherwise, your American citizenship may be not enough to protect you if you're taken. "Said Jones."But there will be portkeys in several secret locations around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade if things turn badly. I know it might not be enough, but..."

"That's already a lot." Thanked him Lockhart. "Has there been any modifications in my mission orders?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Told Jones. Noticing Gilderoy was not at ease, the MIB agent quickly added: "Not in the major points. Your goals are still to infiltrate Hogwarts and figure the real state of the school. I must insist: the real one, Gilderoy. Most of the paperwork and the academic achievements which arrive to the ICW services are so badly filled and altered it has probably no relation with reality. We need to know the real level of Hogwarts students and the atmosphere inside the school. We need a reliable person to give us knowledge of the events Albus Dumbledore passes each year under the table with his great friend the Minister Cornelius Fudge."

"Understood." Said calmly Lockhart. He had been formed to accomplish this kind of missions, after all, and he would hide in plain sight the totality of the time. "And the secondary objectives?"

"Find the ward stones and the most accurate plans of the castle you can. Observe but do not try to act against the most obvious extremists factions of the school."

"And the change in orders?"

"We would like you to take an Aura Reader with you at Hogwarts." Lockhart blinked at that. He really had not seen this one coming, not at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am." Was it a tone of regret in Jones voice?

Gilderoy Lockhart paused to think about it. In itself, an Aura Reader was not a dangerous artefact or any kind of enchantment used for nefarious purpose. Conceived by the mutual efforts of French, Italian and American magical prodigies, it was a fairly recent development which allowed its owner to estimate and record the potential power of a witch, a wizard or any type of magical being able to generate a magical aura. It did not work well for the beings who had not their magic under control (like young children), but over the age of ten, the results approached a success-rate of 99% in correctly estimating the raw magical power of someone.

Like everything in the real world, it had its own defaults. The Aura Reader read your magical potential; it did not calculate if the subject was using it. A lazy wizard who lacked the motivation and the will to use his magic could very well register on the Aura Reader having the magical power of a God, but Lockhart himself would defeat him handily if his motivation was to pass from the bed to the table half of the day. Having potential was one thing, knowing how to use it was an altogether different matter.

But Magical Britain had not appreciated at all the initial press releases of the magical invention. If Lockhart had to guess, the possibility of detecting Squibs (who had been definitely proved to release extremely small amount of magic the Aura Reader could detect) and those being extremely weak magically had been extremely unpleasant for the pure-blood elites of Britain. Anyway, a law had been voted by the Wizengamot at the near-unanimity to forbid the use of the Aura Reader in the British Isles. Any offender would be punished by ten years at the dark prison of Azkaban. For each use.

"You want to know if there are Lord-Level witches and wizards studying at Hogwarts." Said Gilderoy.

Jones did a simple nod. "Indeed. Albus Dumbledore is one, but he has never hidden it. Voldemort was another." Lockhart shivered at the mention of that name, though his superior did not speak against his reaction. "But Dumbledore is old and no one has yet risen alongside him to emerge as his successor. I want to know if the rest of the world has reason to fear something coming from Hogwarts in the next years. In good or in bad."

Said like that, it sounded almost reasonable. In 1991, four hundred and thirty-two witches and wizards all over the world were considered as Lord-Levels, but Albus Dumbledore was widely considered as one of the top ten. If one had any doubt of it, the defeat of Grindelwald which had destroyed half of Berlin in 1945 was evidence enough. There were plenty in the ICW today who feared the Headmaster of Hogwarts because of it. The possibility of another wizard, more powerful than him, coming out in the Light to replace him had to be worrying.

"Okay." Said Lockhart. "I will play the idiot for the time being and bring your detector with me. Speaking of which, do you think Dumbledore has used one inside the walls of Hogwarts?"

"I can't exclude it." Replied Jones in a contemplative mood. "The man likes to have an advantage over everyone in his strategies so it would not be out of character. Take care of yourself, Gilderoy. I will contact you for a meeting on December 23rd."

Hendryk Jones walked away in long, hard strides and then disappeared once he had passed the outer boundaries of the wards around Lockhart's home.

Finishing his glass of wine, Gilderoy Lockhart began to construct his new strategy. First, a triumphant parade in Diagon Alley was in order. After that...

 **17 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France**

"What are we going to do, Armand?" Said René de Ségur, Minister of Magical France.

The Minister of Magical France was usually a good-natured man, reflected Armand Delacour. He was as well a dear friend. Seeing him broken like this in his own office was unbearable. But saying this would not improve the situation. Words were cheap, after all. Well that and it was probable nothing short of Joan of Arc and Napoléon Bonaparte both resurrecting plus half a dozen miracles could avoid the storm of problems coming for him.

Throwing a glance at the window, Armand watched the multicoloured lights signalling the enchanted shops and the residences of Magical Paris. It was an explosion of colours and sense, a marvel that usually never failed to raise his spirits. It was the proof France had recovered from the disastrous Grindelwald War to become once again the first European economy. Forgotten the dark masses of Inferius and abominable creatures dirtying the earth of their presence. France had taken the reins of its own destiny once again, and overcome all its challengers in prestige, culture and beauty.

Until today.

"We could do nothing, I suppose." Armand said finally. "Alas, I don't think it would go very well with our own citizens."

"An understatement if there ever was one." Sighed the Minister.

"Exactly. Having said this, my department is finalising the new security plan we have discussed yesterday. We are going to double our force of chasseurs, put formations of curse-breakers and ward-masters the utmost priority, as well as reinforcing the security of every high-valued location in our territories. We have already planned to raise the level of every minor school and Beauxbatons Academy in the classes of Defensive Tactics and Battle Formation."

"That will help." Answered René de Ségur. "But will it be enough?"

"No." Answered Armand. "But if my fears about what happened to the goblins are confirmed, nothing will be enough. The beings who organised this massive slaughter knew what they were doing, René. Brise-Roc and every goblin inside it are gone. Destroyed to the ashes. If these people wanted to overthrow the Ministry tomorrow, the best thing my chasseurs and the rest of the elite forces could to stop them would be activate the self-destruct command of the Ministry ourselves. At least they wouldn't raid the Ministry vaults like they undoubtedly did with the goblins."

"How did they make the mountain explode? By pure curiosity you understand."

"We have two plausible theories at the moment. Both suppose the attackers had someone inside to help them. The first explanation is they used an alchemical process named the Magma's Crystal." Seeing the lost look of the Minister, Delacour laughed without joy. "I have not understood half of what the Arithmancers experts of my department explained, but the basics are fairly simple: accumulate the pure energy of a volcano inside a crystal, connect it to the wards and then place a detonator to make it unstable at will."

"You do not look convinced." Remarked René de Ségur.

"Every expert I spoke with was unable to tell me why there were too little flames after the explosion. And the goblins had a ward against such crystals. It was old, but it was working at their last inspection three months ago."

"And the second explanation?"

"A wizard having elemental capabilities. A fire affinity to be precise. The problem with this theory is that having this type of power does not make you invincible, and there were thousands of goblins inside the fortress. That a wizard managed to eliminate all of them, make an asteroid-sized crater and escape is ...not very likely."

"There is no wizard or witch having manifested this ability in the last fifty years in Europe, and it is one truly difficult to hide and master." The minister closed his eyes, before reopening them, a light of resistance in them.

"All right. Do what you can Armand to reorganise our military forces. In the mean time, I'm going to talk with the opposition. This disaster offers us an opportunity to purge the pure-blood supremacists and get rid of their incompetence. I'm going to seize it. This disaster stems from the Goblin Liaison Office: I don't care if Charles de Male Foi has his cousin half-dead at the hospital; this time he is going to be fired. He and his cronies have flirted with treason for too long, it's time they learn to do their job honestly or go to prison."

"Do you think Hélène de Broglie and the rest of the opposition are going to let you dismiss the man? He was one of their go-between when they wanted unofficial talks."

"I think so." The Minister let a nasty smile show on his face. "Dumbledore's speech at the ICW Assembly of Geneva managed to put them into a white rage." Delacour shivered internally at the image, as Hélène de Broglie was a Lady in terms of power, and being near her had surely been not pleasant.

"The Supreme Mugwump made himself an enemy this day."

"He made an enemy of every French this day." Corrected the Minister. "Given the dark rumours circulating about the direction taken by Hogwarts and the rest of the British Isles under his rule, I was surprised at his willingness to treat our country like dirt. But I will not forget it. France will not forget it. And if there's a justice in this world, Dumbledore's comments about our 'inexcusable neglect of France's most critical wards' will come to bite him back. He deserves no less."

"Well," said philosophically Armand Delacour. "What did you expect from the man who intervened against Grindelwald only when half of Europe was burnt to ashes?"

 **21 July 1992, Manoir des Anges, France**

The young girl contemplated a long time her home manor. She knew the portkey in her hand, a small bronze trinket, had a limited time to activate, but...this was her home. It was the last time for many months she would see it.

The white marble, the warm sun, the joyous song of the birds were going to be sorely missed. More than ever, she wished there wasn't a way to stay.

But it was impossible.

Her father was in a hospital, with no Healer able to say when he would regain consciousness. Her mother had died years ago. All the cousins and relatives had refused to take her, like she had suddenly caught all the diseases in the world. Even the Board of Beauxbatons, greatest and supposedly impartial Magical School of France, had refused to admit her in their ranks.

Her long blonde hair flowing in the air, the young girl tightened her fist. She would come back. The list of humiliations her so-called family had reaped on her head had been endless, and being forced to study in a foreign country was just the most recent.

Lyre de Male-Foi contemplated a last time the splendid towers of the Manoir des Anges before grabbing her trunk, speaking the activation password and disappearing into a whirlwind of magic.

 **23 July 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland**

Morag MacDougal breathed a long sigh as her three cousins walked away from the ancestral circle of stones, regretting once more the tradition of absolute honesty in this magical place.

Admitting to her close family, and the young MacDougal family was very close with her cousins, that she had made no friends of any sort in her Hogwarts year...it had not been one of her proudest moments. But it was the cold truth. Hogwarts had never felt like the Irish home she loved, and the end of the year exams had destroyed what little friendship they were among the first-years of Ravenclaw House.

The Gryffindors had some right to call the Ravens bookworms and know-it-alls. It was one of the rare Lions valid remarks, but it did not make it less true. And in the end for what? Of the four Houses, there were about one of two really studying like they should and trying to win the House Cup loyally. The last Feast had showed how the hard work was valued.

About as much as the Old Ways.

Magic was declining, half of the students were a shame for wizardry and witchcraft.

If it had been possible, Morag would have transferred to another school. Impossible of course, and not just because she would have to admit to her parents everything.

No, it was not the solution. Exiting Hogwarts would leave a serious mark upon her name when the time came to enter the Wizengamot. And perhaps there was a possibility to make friends in other Houses.

Stranger things had happened. Once in a time, they were competent DADA Professors...

 **25 July 1992, Somewhere in the French Alps**

Alexandra Victoria Potter watched the sun setting on the mountains in a crepuscular colour. So high in altitude, the sky and the panorama were breathtaking, far more spectacular than everywhere else she had formerly been.

As light disappeared in the horizon and night came, the Potter Heiress stayed immobile on a massive stone, even knowing she would have to go back in the valley soon. Even in summer, the night so high in the mountains could really be cold for her taste, not to mention she had not taken with her a lot of warm clothes.

But the night meant sleeping, and sleep was definitely an activity which on this July month brought her little comfort. Alexandra had believed she was about to die, in the armoury of Brise-Roc. The Summon had been about to roast her, and only a miracle could have saved her.

At the last moment, though, the miracle had happened. The salamander had roared in anger and pain, before being seemingly absorbed back into a gigantic vortex, like one in the video games Dudley was so fond of. Alexandra had not waited to know why or how she had been granted such a reprieve. The reality had shivered, and suddenly teleportation was available again. In a last effort, she had visualised the mountain overbearing the place where the first Gringotts portkey had brought her more than a week ago, and tried with all her will to teleport herself away.

It had worked, but the effort had nearly killed her. Alexandra had teleported herself on short distances before; this teleportation had been in miles or kilometres depending the measure system of the country you were referencing. Arrived to her destination, she had completely been emptied of energy and she had assisted in a semi-unconscious state to the explosion of the mountain in the far away distance.

Once sufficiently recovered, Alexandra had gone to the point where she had hidden her spare clothes (for once her prudence to create a secret hideout beforehand had been fairly justified), and left. She had not had the will to explain to the authorities the circumstances of her presence, and she wanted to be far, far away from Brise-Roc. This place had been a gigantic trap, and the furthest away she was from it, the better.

She had erred in the French mountains ever since, using the French money she had converted from the Galleons of her trust vault to buy food and drink. She may have been emerged unharmed from the disaster, but the demon was still pursuing her in her sleep. Every moment passed sleeping was seeing her dreams transform in nightmare with a certain salamander of flames and shadows appearing to annihilate her.

Damn the Exchequer. Damn the goblins for charging in the melee without a Plan B.

Beginning her long descent towards the next town, the young witch saw a white light approaching her in the rapidly diminishing light.

"Atalanta." Alexandra smiled, the first time she had done so for a long time.

"HOOT!" Replied the snow owl, which then proceeded to pose on her right shoulder and vigorously pinch her everywhere she could find.

"OUCH!OUCH! It's okay, I won't leave without news for so long, girl."

The snowy owl hooted again with a threatening glare, then dropped a letter carrying the Hogwarts seal in her hands, along with a few large packages from Hermione and Nigel.

Wondering how she had taken the dominated role in the owl-witch relationship, Alexandra broke the seal and opened the letter first.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have achieved sufficient marks to enter your second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. Your ticket for King's Cross is included in this letter.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"I was wondering when reality would come back ticking again." Alexandra sighed." After all, all those wander are not lost." She added to herself.

"Well, girl." She said to Atalanta. "Are you ready to return to Hogwarts?" Her owl emitted an offended hoot in answer.

"Of course you are ready. Plenty of male owls to court you there." Atalanta hooted loudly in indignation." Fine. Next stop, Diagon Alley."

Alexandra watched the mountains in the distance. While everything was peaceful, the young witch was not able to forget that behind this green and grey, the ruins of Brise-Roc laid. The thousands of souls of those slain by the Summon were still pressing her like an invisible burden.

"This is not over, Exchequer. I will become powerful...and then you will pay. This a promise."

An instant later, there was no one there anymore. Save a marmot wondering what all this noise was about before going to sleep.


	22. The cat is out of the bag

**Chapter 22**

 **The cat is out of the bag**

 **24th August 1992, Diagon Alley, London, England**

 _Diagon Alley hadn't changed much in the space of a year_ , thought Alexandra.

The young witch had come several times, but at each occasion she crossed from the Leaky Cauldron and tapped her wand to open the archway she was greeted by the same sight. Same strange shops. Same strange odours. Same strange wizards and witches walking with their strange clothes indifferent to the fashions of the twentieth century.

The only thing which changed today was that there was a lot more people than usual; to the point the irregular street along the multitude of shops was literally packed with people and she had real difficulties to manoeuvre in the direction she wanted. She had believed at first the large number of people in this infernal means of transport called the Knight Bus were the norm, but the crowd which was cluttering the archway and the Leaky Cauldron proved it was not so.

"I suppose I waited too long to make my school purchases." She sighed. "Everyone must have decided today was the good time to come with his family."

It was not an exaggeration: there were so many children, teenagers and young adults accompanied by the older generation the racket was properly crazy. To Alexandra's great surprise, however, not all this young wizards and witches were familiar faces. Some harboured black robes with unfamiliar coat of arms, while others were wearing completely different uniforms.

Internally, Alexandra wondered what the names of these schools were and why she had never heard of them in _Hogwarts: A History_. There were only two mentions of foreign schools in the history books: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, both of which along Hogwarts were considered 'the three greatest schools of Europe'. Given that one was located in France and the other somewhere in Eastern Europe, she was sceptical its students would go here to do their school shopping.

Arriving to the quill shop, she turned her musings to other subjects, in particular what she had the time to do this morning before meeting Hermione and Nigel at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Initially, it had been her plan to buy everything save the school books before she met them at the point they had decided at midday, but it was not going to be humanly possible. There were too many wizards, goblins, witches, hags and other strange species in Diagon Alley, a fact made abruptly clear by the quarter of the hour she spent in the quills shop, not because she needed time to decide upon a quill, but to reach the vendor with her purchases. Buying the potions ingredients was a bit easier, as the odour in the apothecary was such no one in his right mind wanted to spend an hour in it, but Alexandra renounced seeing the long column of persons waiting in front of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

The green-eyed girl still had an hour before going to Fortescue, but apart from the books at Flourish and Blotts and the robes of Madam Malkin's she had not much to search for Hogwarts. She had bought a magic pouch from Accountant Grimjaw which allowed her to withdraw two hundred galleons before going to the disastrous expedition of Brise-Roc, so going to Gringotts was not needed as she had still had plenty of margin before reaching that limit. Anyway, after what having witnessed the fanaticism and the suicidal thinking of this race, she was really not eager to be in their presence again. Moreover, she preferred delaying the explanations of the travel inside the mountain for another day. Alexandra supposed it was a bit cowardly, but as long as she didn't shout her version of events in public, the beings who had destroyed the expeditionary force wouldn't hunt, track and kill her. If only the salamander ceased to pursue her in her dreams too...

"Mum, I want an owl!" Screamed an eight-old or so kid passing on her right.

"You will have one when you will go to school!" Replied a middle-aged witch, who seemed to be one second away to have a nerve crisis, latching on the kid's arm as the child wanted no better to abandon the guard of his mother.

Alexandra smiled at the spectacle, before frowning in contemplation. As the library and the clothes shop had way too much people inside and outside of them, she could very well go make a trip to a menagerie. Atalanta owl treats were fast nearing the end, and she had also to find a present for Hermione and Nigel's birthday, which were coming respectively on August 29 and September 19.

Both her friends had sent her presents by owl on July 28 while she was on her way to return to Britain. Nigel had offered a book titled _Diplomacy in the Wizarding World for Dummies_ , while Hermione had gifted her _The Curses of the Irritable Witch_ , both of which had been rather enjoyable to read. The birthday cake sent along with Hermione's book had also been delicious, and not only because it was the first one she had received in her life.

An animal would be an original present, and Nigel would have finally an excuse to leave his old-fashioned toad at home. Turning in an alley less-presented, she slalomed between the crowds to go to the Northern streets where animal shops were concentrated.

After five minutes of avoiding the flow of persons coming, the young witch saw a shop named _Magical Menagerie_ which seemed to have almost no people in it. Narrowly missing a crash with a person who looked like a hag and smelled like it, Alexandra crossed the street and entered the shop.

When the Potter Heiress took her first steps inside, the evidence jumped to her eyes: this shop had not a lot of place available. There was not an inch of place left on the walls; every single emplacement was covered in cages. And as every single occupant was doing his best to attract attention, be it by hissing, jabbering, squeaking or jabbering, the atmosphere was really nosy in spite of being only three persons inside the shop: the witch owning the place, a rather young wizard who was in the process of buying a grey owl and Alexandra herself.

In the instants she had, Alexandra examined the cages around her. There were toads of every colour, orange snails, cats, rabbits of unlikely characteristics (like horns and odd numbers of paws), ravens, rats and a few other animals she had never met before, either in book pictures of at the television with the Dursleys.

The young wizard left, and she was free to approach the counter.

"Good morning," Alexandra told the witch. "The birthdays for two my friends is next month, and I want to offer them an animal."

"Certainly," smiled the witch. "Do you have an idea about what sort of animal they would like?"

"A cat for the first, I think." She said, being fairly certain Hermione had never manifested a fondness for any species of owl. "And...OUCH!"

Alexandra had not the time to say one more word. Her reflexes of duelling, honed by Flitwick's training, were barely enough to catch in time as a lightning of orange fur jumped in her arms.

"NO! CROOKSHANKS!" Shouted the witch.

Catching her breath, Alexandra noticed she had now a huge ginger cat looking straight at her, purring loudly in her arms. Posing it on the counter, she studied it, remarking the big orange eyes, the fluffy ginger fur, the face which looked a bit grumpy and the very large tail. But it was the orange colour, the size and the loud purr that were indeed the most remarkable.

"I'm very sorry, Miss." Said the witch. "This cat has posed problems since he arrived here years ago, and no one has wanted to take him."

"How much for him?" Asked Alexandra.

The witch harboured a surprised expression on her face. "You intend to take him?"

"Well, I asked for a cat and he was enough intelligent to jump to the call." She said in a humorous tone. "Besides, he seems affectionate and appreciates my caresses."

The ginger cat raised his ears hearing her speaking, and purred loudly in approval.

"It's your choice." Said the vendor in a relieved voice. "But you said it yourself, he's extremely intelligent, especially when it is time to make trouble. Half-Kneazle breed, very rare. He was only a kitten when he arrived here, the menagerie he belonged to was sold at the end of the last war."

"Figures."Alexandra said, giving a last look at the cat. "I was also looking for another animal. My other friend can be very absent-minded and clumsy, so an animal which is very resistant and faithful would be best."

"I believe I have what you search." The witch nodded, and walked to a rather large cage where there was a ... tortoise?

"Here it is." Told her the woman, posing the animal on the counter next to the cat, which neared to sniff at it. Only to make a rapid retreat, as a flicker of flames went out of the rear of the tortoise. Okay, definitely not a normal tortoise. There were also two beautiful ruby gems on the shell of the not-tortoise.

"This is a hybrid between a Muggle tortoise and a Fire Crab, "explained the witch when she saw Alexandra's interrogative expression."Fire Crab are XXX creatures, so you wouldn't be able to own one, Miss, but crossing it with a tortoise reduces the power of its flames and the number of jewels on its shell. The animal is still highly resistant, however, and will follow his owner at his own rhythm. It has a fondness for lettuce but do not tolerate being plunged into water very well." Giving a sardonic look at Crookshanks, the woman added "and it will not let itself intimated by this good-for-nothing piece of ginger fur."

An offended meow arrived to both witches ears. Crookshanks did not like his new nickname.

"Fine, I will take both of them." Loud purr of approval. "How much for the two?"

"Two Galleons for Crookshanks. Seventeen for the half-Fire Crab."

Alexandra paid without hesitation, adding a few Sickles in owl treats for Atalanta by the same occasion to reach a price of twenty Galleons. She had no doubt Hermione and Nigel were going to love their presents!

The witch put Crookshanks and the other animal back in their cages before giving them to Alexandra, who winced a bit under the sheer weight. Fortunately, Fortescue was not far from this shop and she would not have to carry them all day.

"Excuse me," Alexandra said before opening the door and leaving the Menagerie, a thought coming to her mind. "By pure curiosity, what was the name of the shop who owned Crookshanks before you?"

"Potter Pets and Companions." Replied the witch, in a bitter tone. "Turned really bad, that business. Didn't shed a tear when they got sold."

"Of course not," said Alexandra once in the street. "The wizarding world never cries, even for its heroes."

Glancing back at Crookshanks in his cage, she knew it was anything but a coincidence. The ginger cat had recognised her. Had her parents brought her once in Diagon Alley before their family was destroyed? Possible, very likely even. Grimjaw had used her blood to know her identity at Gringotts last year so perhaps her mother or her father had brought her in the menagerie owned by the family the same day. Alas, with all witnesses unreachable or unable to speak, it was doubtful she would know the details of the story.

Carrying the two cages, she hurried in direction of Fortescue. She had taken a lot of time to go to the Menagerie with the crowd, and now she was slightly late.

"Alexandra! Alexandra!"

Here they were, both Hermione and Nigel, sitting outside the Ice Cream Parlour. Hermione had brought her parents with her, and Nigel was in the company a very old man, who sent her from the start a direct and intimidating stare. Funnily enough, she had believed once ago Nigel had overestimated the behaviour of his grandfather. Now after a few seconds of acquaintance she knew the stories about him were the truth.

"You're a bit late you know." Stated Hermione, standing up to hug her in an endless embrace. "What were you doing? Tom at the Leaky Cauldron told us you passed quite earlier than us!"

"Let her breath Hermione!" Said Nigel. "Our school Dark Lady's was certainly recruiting minions for the new year."

Hermione loosened her embrace, and Alexandra could send a glare at her Gryffindor friend.

"Very funny, Nigel. I am already called this constantly by half of the school, I don't need you too to join the crowd."

"But if you must know, "She affirmed putting the cage of the half-Fire Crab on the table."I was buying your birthday presents. A bit in advance, I'm afraid, but still. Happy Birthday Nigel."

The face of her friend lightened as he opened the cage, taking the tortoise-lookalike with both hands and began examining it.

"Thank you, Alex, thank you."

"This is a hybrid of Fire crab and a tortoise so do not try to plunge it into water. He loves lettuce and I suppose he can eat quantities of vegetables."

Nigel's face was brilliant with joy, and he rose to hug Alexandra before trying to find a proper name for the animal. His grandfather, on the other hand, was on a good way to suffer from a heart stroke seeing how red and agitated he was, giving a certain similitude to Vernon Dursley. So it was him who had bought Glob the Wandering Toad to Nigel, huh. Once more, her opinion of this grey-hair old fossil fell even further.

"And for you, Hermione... meet Crookshanks."

Opening the cage, Alexandra could only laugh when a thunder of orange-ginger rushed out and jumped in the arms of Hermione in two bonds.

Throwing a look at Hermione's parents, she saw the two of them laugh when Crookshanks started to deploy all his arsenal of seduction, which consisted in purring loudly in the arms of his new mistress and encouraging her to do more caresses.

"They are made for each other." The Potter Heiress said in a pious tone which she knew fooled no one.

"Yes," laughed Nigel, evidently not fooled by her assertion. "This is going to cause problems you know." He said in a lower and more serious voice, as Crookshanks took a slobber-position on Hermione's lap and purred like a cat about to enter its own version of paradise.

"Why?" Asked Alexandra. "Last time I check, cats are on the list of animals you can take with you at Hogwarts without having to demand the permission to your Head of House." An idea burst in her mind. "Or is any Gryffindor girl in our year allergic to cats?"

"No," said Nigel, shaking his head negatively. "Not as far as I know. Lavender has a rabbit but it stays at her parent's house. Fay, Parvati and Thelma have owls."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is Ron." Nigel affirmed.

Alexandra tried her very best not to grimace. Ronald Weasley was not on the list of persons she could stand the company of at Hogwarts. He was far from the students she downright hated, of course, but his disgusting manners at table and the behaviour he generally manifested in the classes were more than enough to stay far away from him.

"He's allergic to cats?" Alexandra asked.

"No, he has a rat. An old thing named Scabbers one of his older siblings gave him."

"That's disgusting." The black-haired witch was forced to admit with a frown. "You have a rat in your dormitory?"

"Yes." Was forced to admit the Gryffindor boy.

"Remind me to never come into Gryffindor tower. I don't think it's very healthy in there."

For once she was not kidding. Alexandra had learnt enough of the Middle Ages in the history books of the libraries to know rats carried with them a lot of diseases. There were a reason cats had been in such high demand at one period, and it wasn't for their milk drinking habits.

After a few minutes of idle chatter and Hermione joining the conversation by sharing horror stories of the terrible state of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory while still caressing an ecstatic Crookshanks, they ordered the meal to Florean Fortescue and ate in a convivial manner. Alexandra had already met Hermione's parents in June, and she was happy to meet them again. Overall, they were a far more pleasant couple, if a bit absorbed in their work during the year which left them only holidays to spend with their sole daughter. By comparison with the Dursleys, though, they were very much the ideal family.

Nigel's grandfather stayed nevertheless on the sidelines during all this time, and he didn't participate in any way in the conversation. The grey-haired old wizard was grumbling to himself sometimes in a bitter tone and the few worlds Alexandra heard had too much coherence with anti-non-magical slogans for her to consider the aged grandfather in a positive light.

Having ended their meals and profiting from a lull in the torrent of wizards and witches in Diagon Alley, the group as a whole raced to Madam Malkin's robe shop, minus Nigel's grandfather who sent them a glare and continued his meal, refusing nonetheless the offers the Grangers or Alexandra paid for it.

The clothes and robes shop was definitely the easy part of the afternoon, however. After a quarter of an hour spent in Madam Malkin's being fitted for the new year, when the group of five went out back in the street, the crowd was back again with a vengeance.

Worse, their next destination, which was the library Flourish and Blotts, was perhaps the most crowded place of the entire Alley. There were wizards and witches pressing everywhere, in fact a lot were witches of middle-age. As they came near the doors of the books shop, the reason of this gathering became clear. Across the upper windows of the building, a large banner stretched.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12.30 – 4.30 pm

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione shouted, giving a reason for Crookshanks to groan in his cage. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

Alexandra took in her pocket the list of book requirements Hogwarts had send her, and realised her friend was right. When she had been in France she hadn't really thought about it, but the list literally required her to buy every book of the author's for her new year at Hogwarts! On the paper in her hands was written:

Second-year students will require:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

"What kind of professor would require us to buy seven books for one single class?" The Ravenclaw girl asked incredulously Nigel. "Even Potions or Transfiguration last year didn't require more than two!"

Hermione didn't seem to hear them, though; she was apparently in love with the idea of someone ordering her to buy more books than the norm.

"And the professor certainly won't be here next year." Continued Nigel in a tone which sounded a lot like his stammering of last year, as they tried desperately to squeeze in the shop. "We heard plenty of rumours last years the position is cursed."

"Wouldn't surprise me a bit. I heard some rumours too." Said darkly Alexandra, groaning as she realised an even longer queue was going to the back of the shop where the author was signing his book.

One of the employees was also feeling the brunt of the crowd, the wizard at the entry, who was looking about to shed tears.

"Calmly, please ladies … don't push, there … mind the books, now …"

"This is going to last at least an hour." Sighed Hermione.

"Then no point in all of us staying in the queue." Alexandra declared. "I'm going to search the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2. I believe all the Miranda Goshawk collection is on the first floor."

"I'm coming with you." Said Nigel.

"We'll take your Lockhart books until your return." Assured Carl Granger, Hermione's father, with a large smile, which suddenly vanished when he saw his wife Mary Granger return with a pile of rather large and heavy books.

Alexandra and Nigel thus climbed the stairs with no particular hurry. The long file of witches wasn't going to disappear any time soon.

Turning on their immediate right, the two came face to face with the Neville Longbottom derived products wings.

"Is it me, or is the number of Boy-Who-Lived books augmenting year after year?" The green-eyed witch asked to the Gryffindor. Nigel shrugged in ignorance. "Hey. Look at this: Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Afraid not."Said Alexandra, seizing one copy of the book and leafing through the pages. "Yep. Everything is here. Huh that's new."

"What?" Asked Nigel, who looked about to vomit in disgust at this sickening display built at the glory of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"You might be astonished to know, but Neville Longbottom vanquished last year a mountain troll, a baby dragon, all Slytherin House and two dark wizards by the name of Quirell and Devkins.

"But..." Stammered Nigel, "that's not true!"

"Of course not." Alexandra said sarcastically. "If it was, we would have been already forced to swear allegiance to Emperor Neville Longbottom the First, King of Gryffindor and all of that."

"You're just jealous!" Screamed a young red-haired girl, who nearly knocked down Alexandra from behind at the speed she was coming. "Neville Longbottom is a hero!" And she raced down the stairs of the library.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "That was..."

"Ron Weasley's younger sister Ginny? Yes." Replied Nigel.

"Wonderful." Alexandra stated, curbing her left hand with one hand and marching towards the school books of Miranda Goshawk. "One more recruit for the Boy-Who-Lived fan-club."

Arriving to the row they searched, the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor saw one boy of their own year had preceded them.

"Zabini."

"Potter."

The dark-skinned boy had not changed a lot, Alexandra reflected. He had still the same bored and unfeeling expression he had harboured on the Hogwarts Express a year ago. The clothes he wore were different, but one look at them was enough to know they had not been bought at Madam Malkin's, and not with the money range she used for her own clothes, whether magical or non-magical. The Slytherin boy threw a glance at them, and then set a foot aside to let them take their own books. One year at Hogwarts had apparently not made him more talkative.

She had taken her future spell book and the one destined for Hermione under her right arm, when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.

"Are they your friends, Blaise?"

Alexandra turned, and had her breath taken away. Next to Blaise Zabini, was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Long black hair, with a fairly suntanned skin but not up to Blaise's dark colour, the woman was easily in the same class as a top model. Long legs, taller than the norm, she stood clearly with a grace and a power that she had never seen anyone manifest in the Alley today. Unlike all the adult witches she had met until there, the woman in front of her had the clothes to emphasize her beauty, wearing a long dark green dress which unveiled far more than what the wizarding society no doubt considered as acceptable.

Throwing a look on her right, Alexandra saw Nigel was one inch away from literally drooling over the beauty of the woman.

"No, Mum." Said Blaise Zabini. "But we are in the same year at Hogwarts." Was it her imagination or the pure-blood boy looked really ill-at-ease?

"Mhhhh..." The witch purred with a sensual voice which made the poor Nigel stutter in force. "Maybe, I should ask them..."

"Please, Mum..." The unfeeling expression of Blaise had disappeared, and he was looking at his mother with a supplicant expression.

"Oh, very well." Said Mrs Zabini in a magnificent voice which contained enough seduction to damn a common wizard instantly. "But if you have not solved your issues at the end of this year, then I will take the matter in my hands." Advancing a step in their direction all in grace and fluidity, the elegant witch stared with a look she would have qualified of predatory.

"I do not believe we have been presented, young Miss. I am Lady Stella Zabini."

"Pleased to meet you." She replied. "Alexandra Potter."

Stella Zabini raised her delicate eyebrows slightly, but this was her only reaction and the Zabini's Matriarch only contented to purr an "interesting" before making a movement of her right hand to her son. Then Lady Zabini headed to the exit followed by Blaise with a grace many politicians at the television would kill for.

"Wow. Just wow." Whispered Nigel on her side.

"You had already met her?" Asked Alexandra.

"Two years ago, at a Ministry Ball where my father was invited and the underage wizards had the right to be present." Nigel explained. "Be careful, Alexandra. This woman has married six times, and all her husbands died in unexplained circumstances, leaving her each time a considerable fortune."

"You weren't so difficult one moment ago." Teased him, Alexandra.

"She's beautiful." Admitted Nigel.

Hearing an appalling racket mounting from the ground floor, Alexandra decided that laughing at her friend discomfort could wait until the Hogwarts Express and the travel to Hogwarts itself.

"Should we discover what is making such a noise?"

Descending the stairs, they saw a frightening spectacle. Alexandra knew from the very beginning it would haunt her to the end of her life, no matter how brief or long that length would be.

A man was standing in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by female admirers and photographers, and he was shaking deeply Neville Longbottom by the hand like a consummate man of state with a diplomat. His hair were wavy blond, his eyes were a deep blue and his face was showing a seducing smile with perfect teeth. The man was wearing flashy blue robes who complimented his eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man said loudly, waving for quiet moment of silence. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time! "

"When young Neville here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge –" the crowd applauded again, "– he had no idea that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Senior Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Alexandra left her mouth wide open under the shock. This...this... buffoon was their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor? It was a joke right? No, no, no there had to be mistake. There was no way she was going to be in the same room with this man twice a week! Slowly she felt her mind falling into the horror of an endless pit at the very idea.

The crowd didn't share her misgivings however, and cheered and clapped even more loudly at the announcement. The Potter Heiress saw Neville being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under the weight of the books, the Boy-Who-Lived managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room near the stairs where Alexandra was positioned, where the young Weasley girl was standing next to a cauldron.

"You have these," The Ravenclaw girl heard Neville mumbling to the young red-haired witch, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own –"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Longbottom?" Affirmed a voice she had no need to search to recognise. Draco Malfoy. Of course, the imbecile of Slytherin was going to darken the day by his very presence. With his usual sneer, the pure-blood idiot came face to face with Neville Longbottom.

"The famous Neville Longbottom," Affirmed Malfoy in his best pompous tone. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Said Ginny Weasley, glaring at Malfoy. On this point, Alexandra herself wasn't so sure. Neville hadn't been exactly shy to accept the popularity and the renown of his title at school. Here, on the other hand, he seemed clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. This Lockhart had managed to press enough buttons to overwhelm his thirst of fame. How...remarkable.

"Longbottom, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Drawled Malfoy. Ginny Weasley went scarlet, but in the mean time Leo Black and Ron Weasley had fought their way over the crowd, with large piles of Lockhart books.

"Oh, it's you," Said Ronald Weasley to Malfoy with an expression of plain disgust over his face. "Bet you're surprised to see Neville here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," Retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot."

The two Weasleys went redder than tomatoes on the spot, and Alexandra could almost see the smoke coming out of their ears. Ron Weasley dropped his books into the cauldron nearby and started to advance towards Malfoy, an expression of pure rage on his face, but Neville Longbottom and Leo Black restrained him.

"Ron!" Said a man who could be none other than the Weasley patriarch, struggling in the crowd with the Weasley Twins in tow. "What are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley." Draco Malfoy's father had arrived, and Alexandra was not surprised to see Draco was more or less a younger clone of his father. Platinum-blonde hair, sneer, expensive clothes, all there was to copy in the older wizard her fellow second year had included it in his character. Malfoys or Male Fois, English or French, the appearances were like reflects in a mirror. Even the posture of unrestrained arrogance was the same.

What was even more surprising for Alexandra, was the young blonde girl half-hidden behind the Malfoy patriarch. So Draco Malfoy had a sister. Hogwarts rumour mill had never gossiped on this subject. By the looks of her clothes, her size and her presence here, she was certainly going to Hogwarts this September. This promised to be... interesting.

"Lucius," Told Mr Weasley to Malfoy Senior in a freezing tone.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Lucius Malfoy in a voice too snobbish to be honest. "All those raids … I hope they're paying you overtime?"

The blonde man reached into the cauldron of the Weasleys and extracted a book Alexandra recognised as a copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ which looked to have seen better days.

"Obviously not," The Malfoy Lord said in a smug and satisfied tone. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

The older Weasley flushed redder than both of his children combined, taking a tomato colour.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," Arthur Weasley said, his voice shaking with fury.

"Clearly," said Lucius Malfoy, his pale eyes straying Leo Black and Neville Longbottom, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley … and I thought your family could sink no lower –"

There was a thud of metal as the Weasley cauldron went flying; Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Lucius Malfoy, knocking him backwards straight into a bookshelf without using any magic whatsoever. Dozens of heavy magical books came thundering down on all their heads. The Weasley twins were in pure Gryffindor mood screaming "Get him, Dad!" which made Alexandra wonder if they had goblins in their ancestry.

A plump woman, none other than the Weasley matriarch was shrieking "No Arthur, no!" and at the same time the crowd present inside the store was running in every direction casting spells, with the employee of Flourish and Blotts trying to restore order without any success.

In the middle of the stairs, Alexandra and Nigel watched this outburst of violence like persons caught in the eye of the hurricane.

"And the Professors at school pretend Gryffindor and Slytherin can coexist in real life." Alexandra sighed, pointing to Nigel the spectacle of the Malfoy and Weasley patriarchs trying to strangle each other. "This is going to be nasty when we arrive to Hogwarts on September. The Snakes and the Lions were already at each other throat last year, I bet you ten Galleons one of them is sent to the hospital before the end of the first week."

"I don't take the bet." Replied Nigel.

"Wise choice." Smiled Alexandra.

"You speak like this was arriving all the time at Hogwarts." Said a girl voice with an aristocratic tone on Alexandra's left. "Surely the professors intervene and punish the culprits?" It was the young Malfoy girl, who looked at Alexandra with an arrogant expression which dared her to prove her wrong. There were hints of a French accent too. Okay perhaps she was not Malfoy's sister. Or had the witch been sent to a French school for her education?

"I would suggest," Alexandra replied. "You don't wait for the Professors to save you at school, oh future Slytherin. They are less than thirty of them, and they often arrive when it's time to send everyone to the Hospital Wing."

"You speak like if those plebeians would stand a chance against me!" Scoffed the younger female version of Draco Malfoy.

Alexandra smiled evilly. Oh, the return to reality was going to be brutal for the spoilt pure-blood blonde. The Valar knew it had been for Draco and his band of brutes, and she doubted Longbottom and consorts were going to feel the least bit guilty in adding another Snake to their hunting collection.

"Believe what you want." Alexandra replied to the blonde pure-blood. "Just don't say I had not warned you."

Nigel following her, they managed to get out of the shop which looked more and more as if someone had decided to improvise one of the catch fights Dudley was so fond of.

Outside they found Hermione and her parents, who carried three piles of large and heavy books.

"We managed to get out before everything fell apart." Said Hermione's father, who looked a bit worried by the experience. "Is this sort of things happening often at Hogwarts?"

Alexandra favourite and trustful answer would have been 'at least once per week', but seeing Hermione's pleading look she answered by a "it's really exceptional, thankfully". Although she really had to ask her bushy-haired friend what she told her parents of the events with the troll and the series of trial in the Forbidden Corridor.

The library was the next to last stop; Alexandra wanted to buy one good flying broom before leaving.

"Why?" Asked her Nigel, as they waited for the vendor of Quality Quidditch Supplies to serve the rest of the clients before them. "At each match, you complain Quidditch is a sport of brutes and is too dangerous."

"Of course." Alexandra agreed. "But it means I don't like Quidditch, not Flying itself. And a good broom can be a very good means of transportation when the alternative is walking. Faster too when I want to escape something."

She didn't add that not having her own broom had forced to borrow temporarily a school broom for her little escapade in the Forbidden Corridor on December 31. Nor that she had been forced to walk across a good part of France between each teleportation in July and August. They weren't things you discussed in public.

Finally, she bought a second-hand Nimbus 1500, a model having dominated the market in 1982, for the sum of sixty Galleons. The Potter Heiress had initially wanted to take a rather more modern broom, but she and Nigel had paled when they had discovered buying a new Nimbus 2000 would cost them the extravagant sum of one thousand Galleons. And there was an even newer broom, even more expensive since July on the market!

"I know Neville got a Nimbus 2000 by his family last September, but are they other players who have such expensive brooms?" Alexandra asked to her auburn-haired friend, leaving Quality Quidditch Supplies behind them.

"Not that I know of from last year, but Malfoy or Nott are surely going to enter the competition on September." Replied Nigel after a few seconds of reflexion.

"Maybe the Slytherins will kill each other on the pitch." Joked Alexandra with a large smile, as the entire group gathered at Fortescue. Last year had seen a deep rivalry develop between the two first-year Slytherin for the leadership of the youngest Snakes, and somehow Alexandra was sure the rivalry hadn't ended with the holidays.

Nigel smiled with her, before his expression turned to a grimace when he saw the grumping and snarling expression of his grandfather waiting for them at Fortescue. Needless to say, an afternoon sitting alone on the terrace's pavement area had really not improved his mood.

"See you on September 1st," Alexandra said to the Gryffindor boy. "I will take a compartment at the rear of the Express."

In the mean time, she had a violet bus with infernal speed to catch. Taking in her arms the large pile of books Mary Granger gave her, she vacillated under the weight and groaned.

"There better be a good deal of useful information in these books." Alexandra said in a prayer, already half-discouraged by the need to carry this plus the rest of her purchases through Diagon Alley. But as the large show made by Lockhart in the afternoon came back in her memory, she was fearing the worst.

One thing was sure, this new school year promised to be several things, but certainly not boring.


	23. Sensational Entrances

**Chapter 23**

 **Sensational Entrances**

 **1st September 1992, Hogwarts Express**

Alexandra snarled under the sheer weight of her trunk, trying without success to push it inside the compartment and failing utterly. Finally, out of breath, she stopped her effort and let the bag containing all her clothes, books and various objects she owned descend on the ground of platform nine and three quarters of King's Cross Station.

 _Defeated by a trunk_ , thought Alexandra. That was a new low, even for her.

Drawing her wand out of her wand holster, she quickly casted a Wingardium Leviosa on the recalcitrant luggage, praying the interdiction of practising magic during the holidays had already ended when she had crossed the magical barrier.

Opening again the door in front of her, she levitated the heavy trunk inside and quickly walked inside the train.

Sure enough, Hermione and Nigel were already awaiting her in the first compartment she opened.

"You're late." Remarked Nigel in an ironic tone.

"A witch is never really late, Nigel. She arrives when she means to, not before, and wizards must accept it." Joked Alexandra. "In the unlikely event a witch would be late, though, she would accuse her trunk to be too heavy to transport. Well the trunk and these useless Lockhart books."

She wasn't kidding. Her wandless magic was too unreliable to levitate a big object in plain day without all the inhabitants of Privet of Drive seeing it, so she had had to use the normal method to move it, until the point she had called the Knight Bus. Arriving at King's Cross, descending the trunk and reaching the magical platform had been even more difficult thanks to the crowd. Fortunately Atalanta made the travel to Hogwarts on her own. Carrying an owl on her shoulder would have made the task an impossible one.

"Lockhart books are not useless!" Protested Hermione, on the seat facing Nigel.

Alexandra threw her a surprised look, before sitting on the seat to Nigel's left.

"Strange. Have you read the same books as I have? Because there was not a single spell taught in all these books."

"But all the things he's done..." Said Hermione in a vehement voice.

"Whether our new Professor has done all the things he says having accomplished doesn't really matter, Hermione. I paid each of these books three Galleons, and they were seven of them. So, twenty-one Galleons for all, and I can't say any of them is worth the price. The Standard Book of Spells was half the price of a Lockhart book and has much more interesting information about the theory and practise of magic."

"Alexandra's right. My father read one of this book, and he wasn't really happy we were forced to buy all the Lockhart collection." Nigel intervened. "My grandfather said it was proof how deep Hogwarts had fallen, but you know how he is..."

Alexandra and Hermione looked at each other, their debate about Lockhart books forgotten. Seeing Nigel's grandfather at Diagon Alley had been a brutal reminder how bad Nigel's view of himself had suffered under this hard and bitter old man. In fact, Alexandra suspected it had been worse for Hermione. Living with the Dursleys for eleven years was difficult to beat, while the Gryffindor girl had loving parents who had accepted to send their only child to a secret world they ignored the existence two years ago. Watching someone treat his grandchild like dirt was not a pleasing experience.

"So what happened really to you at Brise-Roc?" Demanded Nigel. "The sum-up you sent us by letter wasn't very encouraging..."

"I saw the destruction it wrecked in the newspapers. How did you survive that, Alex?" Added the bushy-haired Gryffindor witch.

"Luck, Hermione. Luck and running as fast as I could away from the danger." Alexandra was forced to admit with bitterness. "Do you want the short or the long version? I saw a salamander-shaped demon from the deepest parts of Hell massacre a goblin army, and I abandoned them to save my skin."

Seeing the expectant regards of her two friends, the green-eyed Ravenclaw had to tell them the full story, which took her over half an hour. The silver sword kept in one of the lower compartments of her trunk was shown to add weight to the whole adventure.

"Does the sword has a name?" Said the auburn-haired Lion while admiring the handle and the forged metal.

"I settled for Glamdring."

"Glamdring. Not Orcrist?"

"Thorin died at the end, Hermione. I hope I will have a happier fate than that."

"Alexandra, please. What you did was truly something worthy of a legend. In fact, I think you should see a Mind-Healer-"

"No, Nigel. Thanks for the offer but no. Half of what I've seen so far is enough to wake me up at night. I don't want to have my face plastered on the newspapers and the persons who organised this slaughter after me. I want to enjoy a calm year. Peace. No deadly fights. Okay?"

Hermione and Nigel both nodded, but Alexandra could see it was reluctant and that they didn't agree with her reasoning.

Choosing to turn the topic of conversation to a safer and less depressing subject, the two Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw then discussed the spells they were going to learn this day in Charms. The minutes passed fast, as they were completely absorbed in their conversation, that they only realised they had left King's Cross as Nigel threw a glance outside and remarked the cow herd nearby the place the train they were passing.

"Weird." Said Nigel.

"What is it?" Asked Hermione.

"I didn't see Neville arrive on the platform. Nor did Ron or Leo."

"You certainly have missed them while we were discussing." Said Alexandra in a bored tone. While she would not be sorry if the Boy-Who-Lived didn't come at Hogwarts this year, reality was hardly going to be so pleasant. "I hadn't even noticed we had started the journey to Hogwarts."

"Perhaps... but the journalists and photographs were here and they would have jumped at him at first sight."

"True. On the other hand, whatever they have planned, they know they will never be expulsed. Last year proved that." Hermione affirmed, apparently still bitter about the rest of the first-year of her House had forced her to go to the Forbidden Corridor. "And have you heard how they called themselves after winning the House Cup?"

"The Golden Trio?" Asked Alexandra. It was the only nickname she had ever heard to describe Neville and his followers, although she was unsure who had first thrown the name in the melee.

"No. The New Marauders."

Alexandra frowned. She had heard the name before at Hogwarts but where? Oh well, it wasn't like the self-proclaimed titles a group of pranksters enjoyed was that important. The young Ravenclaw would remember in due time.

"I hope for them they haven't decided to raise the frequency of their pranks and duels in the corridor. They weren't the most popular students of Hogwarts last year." Alexandra remarked.

"They were loved in Gryffindor." Grimaced Nigel.

"Because they won the Cup at the last minute."Noted Hermione.

"And they are downright hated in Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff is more divided, they have taken care to prank them and leave no clue they are behind it." Alexandra added.

"Slytherin I understand but why Ravenclaw?" Asked Nigel.

Alexandra raised one eyebrow. "Remember which House was supposed to win the House Cup before the Headmaster decided on his own to give you Lions the trophy? Which House studied every time in the library when volleys of dungbombs were thrown? Which House makes literally novels of revision notes for the end of the year exams, only to see them burn in fireworks when some Gryffindors wanted to have fun?"

"Oh."

"They must be even least popular than you in Ravenclaw Tower." Said Hermione.

"No one is less popular than me in Ravenclaw, Hermione." Said Alexandra doing a parody of Malfoy's sneer, making Nigel and Hermione burst in laughter. "But they are really making a good effort, I will grant them that."

Afterwards, the discussion moved to moved to the absolute boredom generated by Binns and the laziness of Tiroflan, and continued from there. They were only interrupted in their debates by the trolley's lady, from which they bought several sweets. The sun finally set down over the hills of Northern Scotland and soon Alexandra and Hermione changed from their regular clothes to the Hogwarts robes, temporarily leaving Nigel out of the compartment as he was already in his wizard clothes.

Finally, the voice of the Hogwarts driver announced they were five minutes away from the station of Hogwarts, then the Express stopped. Taking their time, the trio walked out in the station. It was not raining, but the climate was downright freezing compared to the temperatures they had had in London.

They heard the huge Gatekeeper named Hagrid in the distance calling "Firs'-years this way!" but this time they did not follow him, instead marching after the crowd of older students onto a rough dirt road. Not far from the path, hundreds of stagecoaches awaited the students, driven by what looked to be the weirdest horses Alexandra had ever seen. They had a skeletal body, bat-like wings and reptilian futures, giving them a rather dark appearance, impression not helped by the fact they were now fully in the darkness.

"What are these things driving the coach, Nigel?" Alexandra asked, mounting in one which hadn't been occupied.

"Err...Alexandra, there is nothing driving the coach." Answered the Gryffindor boy, clearly frowning, as he and Hermione mounted with her in the coach.

"Of course, there is!" Alexandra replied, shutting the door and seeing the strange magical horse beginning to advance, making the coach bump and sway on the irregular dirt road. "Don't tell me you haven't seen these things!"

"Nigel's right, Alexandra." Said Hermione. "There's nothing drawing the coach."

"You don't see them? Skeletal horses with wings?" The Ravenclaw witch asked, wondering if she had not begun to suffer from hallucinations.

Nigel completely paled at her last words. "Thestrals." Her friend said in a whisper. "Of course you can see them, Alexandra."

"Why?"

"The only persons who can see Thestrals, are the ones who have seen death." Answered Hermione, distinctly ill-at-ease. "There was a chapter about them in _Hogwarts: A History_." The bushy-haired Gryffindor justified as the two others turned their head to observe her.

Alexandra grimaced. Well, at least she was not crazy. Alas, she was not certain having the confirmation she had already seen too much death to be better. The troll and Sykes at Halloween. Devkins at the end of the year. The goblins of Brise-Roc during the holidays. In one year, she had had a lot of occasions to see persons leaving this world. Usually in very violent circumstances.

Ten minutes passed, until their carriage like the others passed two great wrought-iron gates with large columns and winged boars on top of them, looking a bit ridiculous by the posture they were represented. The coach accelerated, as the towers, walls and turrets of Hogwarts grew more and more imposing from the tiny window available. When it came to a halt, they came out and found themselves directly in front of the entrance. Hermione led the group, climbing up first the stairs which guided them into the castle itself and when they passed the huge oak front doors, the cold disappeared in an instant, proof of the magic existing in the school.

They did not stay long in the Entrance Hall, as the crowd of incoming students was growing without sign of interruption. Entering the Great Hall, she noted the enchanted ceiling was fully black tonight, without any stars to illuminate it. The hundreds of torches, the great four tables, the flatware, the gold-coloured plates and the rest of decorations had not changed, though.

"See you tomorrow." Alexandra said to Hermione and Nigel, before they marched in the direction of the Gryffindor table. If the Professors had literally ignored the two Gryffindors eating and dining with her a good part of the last year, there was no way the teachers would tolerate this at the Sorting Feast.

She turned and began to walk at a rapid pace towards her usual place at the Ravenclaw table. On her way, she noticed many people looking at her with a lot of attention that wasn't there before, pointing fingers at her, not in fear or terror, but for the first time in interest and calculation. Great. There still students glancing at her and then avoiding her attention, frightened and scared, but not a majority anymore. What had happened in the holidays to dissipate her status of Dark Lady?

Sitting on her seat, she looked towards the teacher's table. Not many new faces present this year. Sure enough, Lockhart was here, and he had a middle-aged brown-haired witch on his right who looked to be a fan-girl given the looks of adoration she sent him. They looked to be the only addition to the staff. The rest of the teachers had been already present last year.

Turning her attention to the Gryffindor table, she realised that Neville Longbottom and his two lieutenants were nowhere to be found. Had the Boy-Who-Lived really left Hogwarts for good?

As a very long column of new students entered the Hall, Alexandra stopped her musings. Like her one year ago, the young wizards and witches saw with stupefaction Professor McGonagall posing the Sorting Hat on a three-leg stool and listen the artefact sing the qualities of each of the four Houses existing at Hogwarts: bravery and nobility for Gryffindor, hard-work and solidarity for Hufflepuff, intelligence and wisdom for Ravenclaw, ambition and cunning for Slytherin.

Alexandra applauded politely with the rest of the school when the song finished, although inside she wondered if the hat shouldn't have dropped a few qualities for practicality's sake. Too many Gryffindors had nothing noble in them, and were only proving courageous with overwhelming odds on their side. Hufflepuff were loyal, but only to their House and no one else. Ravenclaws were usually intelligent, but extremely individualists and prone to attack whoever challenged their way of thinking. And for Slytherin...some of its members had nothing ambitious or cunning in them. One look at Crabbe and Goyle was enough to see that.

The Sorting hat having finished his musical performance, the Sorting thus began, with Professor McGonagall calling the students in the alphabetical order.

"Angela, Jade!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The table of the Lions suddenly burst in cheers to welcome the new addition to their ranks.

"Baddock, Bridget!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Alexandra didn't follow every name of the Sorting after the first ones. First, because she was now rather hungry, and secondly there were too many young students waiting to be sorted. Her own promotion had numbered only forty-five, but this year there was a lot more students, closer to ninety she thought. Post-war baby boom, maybe?

Gryffindor received Abigail Nicola, Edith Newton, Rosalyn Ewhirst, a photograph addict named Colin Creevey, Remy Olivier, Riley Frazer and Kieran Muirhead amongst others. Heather Dodworth, Trudy Galston, Haruka Endoh, Gabriel Tate, Darrel Turner were kids who went to Hufflepuff.

A strange girl with messy blond hair named Luna Lovegood was sent to Ravenclaw, along with Margaret Ettington, Joan Kerridge, Ophelia Rushden, Nathaniel Douglass, Godfrey Midhurst and Austen Guthrie.

Then there were Slytherin, and this time Alexandra remarked more than once the looks and whispers when some boys and girls were sent into the Snakes' Den. That it happened when the boy or the girl marched arrogantly to the Sorting Hat was purely a coincidence of course. Names like Gertrude Meads, Archana Shetty, Sylvia Melville or Byron Miller were totally unknown to her, but they were some she recognised from rumours in the corridors or old issues from the Daily Prophet. William Rosier, Damon Harper, Priscilla Mulciber. Ancient, Noble, or Ancient and Noble families that had a major proportion of their numbers killed under the Death Eaters banners. And of course, both being quite recognisable with their almost platinum blonde hair, Astoria Greengrass and Lyre de Male-Foi.

A young French witch indeed, and the crossing of the Channel was not normal if the rumours spreading at lightning's speed with Hogwarts Mill were exact.

The sorting ended with "Ginevra Weasley!" being sent to "GRYFFINDOR!" and joining the rest of her family in the Lions pride. Red hair, red banners. Overall, this Sorting had presented no surprise.

While Professor McGonagall was taking the Sorting Hat on its stool away, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his throne-seat, his silver hair and beard strangely luminescent at the light of the Great Hall candles. Alexandra felt deeply the waves of magic pouring out of the old man, strangely emanating an impression of calm and confidence.

"Welcome!" Said the old wizard looking like more than ever to a copy of Merlin or Gandalf. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things..."

The venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts had not the time to say one more word. A loud, car-like noise thundered from above, and over the stunned expressions of the entire Hogwarts population, the enchanted ceiling reflected the passage of a true, red-flashing, Flying Car over their heads with a student in Hogwarts robes hanging on to the car trunk for dear life. With stupefaction, Alexandra recognised the black, disorganised hair of Leo Black, and the red hair of Ronal Weasley trying to put an acrobatic manoeuvre with the passenger door to save the Black Heir.

 _That's an entrance_ , acknowledged a little part of Alexandra's mind in the few seconds the Car stayed in view before disappearing.

The silence in the great Hall was absolute. Then a loud, awful noise of crash resonated, evident sign the Flying Car had finished its course somewhere. A second crash echoed, and many in the assistance winced. Contact with the ground had not been a delicate affair, if the noise was any indication.

It was as if someone had lightened a fire, as conversations spiralled from every student's mouth.

"I thought Longbottom, Weasley and Black couldn't act more stupidly than last year." Snarled a Ravenclaw on her left. "I was wrong."

"Ten Galleons they are going to get away with it!" Exclaimed another boy.

Seeing the murderous face of Professor Snape as the Potions Senior Professor rushed out the Great Hall with his black robes billowing like a hell-bat, Alexandra wasn't so sure. Professor McGonagall who was following him in a series of long strides looked positively furious too. The rest of the professors at the head table, minus Lockhart and the new woman, were varying from irritated to enraged. Even Dumbledore was radiating in anger, a sort of magical violet magical aura forming around him. The three Gryffindor were clearly not going to pass a good moment.

In the chaos unleashed by this unexpected arrival, the Headmaster had to launch a few spells with his wand to restore order.

"Ahem. As I was saying before being interrupted, I am pleased to welcome two new Professors in this prestigious school this year.

Firstly, Professor Reed, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Junior Professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The brown-haired witch stood up, waved her hand and saluted and sat down, meeting a fairly warm welcome of the Hogwarts students.

"Secondly, please welcome Professor Gilderoy Lockhart who will be the Senior Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year."

This declaration was met with giggles, cheers and countless cry of delight made by the majority of the female population. Embarrassingly and to Alexandra's consternation, Hermione's was among them.

But the horror had not really begun. Gilderoy Lockhart then stood up and began to talk. Of this welcoming speech, Alexandra had to be honest, she would never be able to remember a single sentence without breaking violently something in the vicinity. Lockhart began by talking about himself, his smile, his skills, his smile, his fame, himself, his hair, his new book, his old books, himself, his hair and in the end...himself.

By the time this unbearable litany was over, Alexandra was ready to murder someone and by the looks of it, about half of the male Hogwarts students were ready to follow her in this endeavour.

"Well, I think everything of importance has been said for the evening!" Said Dumbledore in a crisped voice, which proved even the Headmaster, veteran and survivor of endless pointless speeches, had badly tolerated Lockhart's voice during these endless minutes. "Let the feast begin!"

Immediately, the goblets and the plates in the four tables began to fill themselves of delicious foods and drinks. Alexandra, more hungry than ever, began to serve herself a large part of meat and potatoes, stopping the complaints of her abused stomach, which had been forced to endure a long wait and the ramblings of Lockhart.

Glancing once from the spectacle of her dinner when the meals such as meat and vegetables disappeared to let place to the desserts, she noticed Dumbledore had disappeared from the professor's table, and that Professors Snape and McGonagall still hadn't returned. Longbottom had ruffled quite a few feathers this evening, hadn't he?

Grabbing a part of chocolate tart, she noticed the red-haired girl directly facing her was studying her attentively. After a few seconds, Alexandra remembered her name: Morag MacDougal, one of her year-mates. But with the isolation Alexandra had endured during her first year at Hogwarts, the green-eyed child could not remember having talked to her in more than five occasions. Probably less.

"I really hope I did not left chocolate on my face." She joked.

"Sorry," the other just Ravenclaw girl said. "I just wanted to see..."

"If I was going to curse you because you stared at me too many times? If I did that, I would be forced to curse all the school from dusk till dawn."Alexandra said ironically, finishing her tart.

Morag frowned. "There are rumours about you..."

"Hogwarts is full of rumours. Some of them have some basis in reality. The rest are pure fantasy, invented by students who have way too much free time and an impressive imagination."

"So the rumours you have killed Quirell and Devkins one after the other are just fantasy?"

Alexandra widened her eyes. That she had not heard before leaving Hogwarts in June. And judging by the relative silence of about one quarter of the Ravenclaw table at this moment, Morag wasn't the only one interested in the answer.

"For the record, I didn't kill Quirell." Alexandra answered in a low tone. She didn't answer the rest of the question. Openly saying you had killed one of your teachers in public, even if most of the faculty professors had likely known of the incident by the end of the night, was neither prudent nor an intelligent thing to do.

Imperceptibly, the attention of her House went elsewhere, as the Ravens realised she would not be inclined to gossip with them.

"What's with the questions anyway, Morag?" Alexandra asked, drinking a sip of apple juice. "You never tried to speak with me outside class before."

The second-year girl blushed a deep red nicely complimenting the colour of her hair, grumbling something which suspiciously sounded like "I was just curious". It was a poor lie, but Alexandra didn't insist.

Thinking rapidly, Alexandra tried to remember what she had learnt about House MacDougal. She knew Morag and her family were pure-bloods, had a siege at the Wizengamot as a Most Noble and Ancient House and were usually considered to be among the Neutrals or Non-Aligned, a faction which rarely voted in support of laws proposed by the Light and the Dark factions. House MacDougal had not acted in any military way in the last British Civil War, choosing to retreat to their ancestral lands and possessions in Ireland and let the storm pass. A strategy which didn't look so idiotic when you counted the number of other pure-blood families which had become extinct or were very near this particular threshold. This last category included one with the name Potter.

Still, all the information at her disposition gave no clue why Morag or Morag family were interested in her. One more thing, Alexandra thought, she was unlikely to have the answer any time soon, as Morag was now busy fixing her plate and eating without looking her in the eyes. As a result, Alexandra passed the end of her dinner in a relative and safe silence, a pleasant change compared to her first Sorting Feast. Maybe, this evening was going not to end badly in definitive.

After everyone had completely ate more than one what could be considered reasonable, the plates and the rest of the elements present on the tables magically disappeared one by one.

"So!" Said Headmaster Dumbledore, who had come back while the Potter heiress wasn't looking, and was now smiling naturally around at all the assistance.

"Now that we are all fed and watered I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Explosive Gums, Slime Bombs and Laxative Catnip. The full list comprises some four hundred and one items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched, clearly he found humorous that the Gryffindors found new and inventive ways to break the rules of Hogwarts.

The Headmaster continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to all students and some amongst us-" he directed his attention in the direction of the Weasley Twins, "-should always remember it. The village of Hogsmeade is forbidden to all students below third year, and for those beyond third year only during some week-ends and not at their convenience. Now I believe everything of importance has been said. Time to go to bed! Chop! Chop!"

Alexandra stood up and joined the rest of the school marching towards the marble stairs. Despite the crowd, she rapidly found again her marks and found away to Ravenclaw tower where the knocker in the form of an eagle was waiting.

Two or three third-year students were already waiting before the entrance, and by their face they had failed to find the answer to the riddle. As she came in front of the riddle, the musical voice asked:

"There is a house. A person enters this house blind but exits it seeing. What is it?"

Alexandra smiled. This one was very famous no matter the world, it seems. First day of the year, the eagle went for the classics.

"A school."

"Correct."

And the door opened, letting her and the other Ravenclaws enter their common room. Seeing the atmosphere was less stormy than last year, Alexandra sat in a comfortable armchair and waited for the first-years to arrive.

A minute had not lasted that a large boy, most likely a five year or a sixth year judging by his corpulence, ran into the room announcing: "Did you hear? Longbottom, Black and Weasley flew the Flying Car from London to Hogwarts, Snape caught them after they crashed in the Whomping Willow!"

The reaction of the Ravenclaw present did not wait to erupt in a large cacophony where everyone tried to babble his point of view, most of the words being quite unflattering to Longbottom and his accomplices.

"You're not serious!"

"Who would be stupid enough to build a Flying Car?"

"I hope they get expelled!"

"I knew he was an attention-seeker brat!"

BOOM!

A small explosion had just come out the wand from Professor Flitwick, who no one in the terrible racket had heard coming.

"Enough." Said their tiny Head of House, looking a bit miffed at the awful din reigning in the Common Room a few seconds ago. "I know the spectacular entrance of Misters Longbottom, Black and Weasley has made the turn of the school already, but it is not a reason not to greet your new Housemates."

"What's the final punishment, Professor?" One of the Prefects asked timidly, clearly having still the will to fish out the latest information available.

Professor Flitwick emitted a long sigh and during an instant, looked ten years older than his usual flamboyant and jovial appearance.

"Mister Longbottom and his friends will not be expulsed, in spite of the vigorous campaign led by Professor Snape. They will have a month of detention and lost about one hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor, though."

There were some shouts of disappointment in the Ravenclaw crowd, but not many. A month of detention was good punishment, never mind that it was not going to add more neurons in the Golden Trio's skulls. One hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor was more than enough to be sure that, save another Dumbledore intervention, Gryffindor House was out of the game for long months the House Cup.

Alexandra still heard one of the Quidditch Raven players murmuring "should have expulsed him from the Quidditch team too..." She was forced to admit the broom-addicted boy had a point, Longbottom no doubt cared a lot more about his place in the Gryffindor team than losing hundreds of points to his House or doing a few detentions. Each Quidditch game gave a hundred points to its winner, and as for detentions, it would not be the first or the last the Golden Trio would be forced to do.

In the mean time, Professor Flitwick had introduced himself and had elaborated a bit about the qualities he expected from each member of Ravenclaw House. Alexandra only listened from one ear, but she noted the half-goblin and former duellist had judged good to make the speech himself and not delegate the task himself this year.

"...and then I wish you good night. Sleep well, the classes begin tomorrow. Miss Potter, one word please."

Anguish fell in her stomach, as she rose to follow her small Head of House out of the Ravens' Nest and towards his office. What sort of calamity was going to be brought upon her head this time?

Passing the door after Flitwick song in a foreign language his password, she waited for her Charms Professor to be seated before she took her place on the comfortable armchair.

"Miss Potter," began Flitwick in a voice which was clear he was not enjoying posing it at all. "The Headmaster would like to know why you haven't passed your summer at your uncle's and your aunt house."

Alexandra slightly narrowed her eyes at this affirmation. The raven-haired girl knew the director of Hogwarts was her magical guardian, but the manipulative old man had never manifested any interest in speaking to her or visiting Privet Drive once in the last eleven years. That he had done so while she was away in France or at Hermione's home was nearing 'hell froze over' in probability and went below it, especially as the Dursleys had made no mention of it when she came back from her little escapade. Granted, Petunia and Vernon didn't talk to her a lot, but they would have mentioned a wizard or a witch passing by their house, if only to add how repulsive and freakish the magical being was.

Oh, well. In doubt, apply the Slytherin operation protocol. Deny. Deny. Deny.

"With all due respect, Professor, I don't know what you're talking about." Alexandra answered in her best 'honest tone', which she knew wouldn't fool her minuscule Head of House a single second.

"Miss Potter." Sighed Flitwick. "Personally, I don't care what you're doing during the holidays as long as you do not break any law or commit crimes which fall under the authority of the Ministry of Magic or the ICW. But the Headmaster is very concerned, as the person he left to keep an eye on you reported you being away for large period of time this summer."

Alexandra made a nasty grimace at this last affirmation, anger filling her head. Dumbledore had left someone to keep an eye on her. The Headmaster dared affirm he had left someone to keep an eye on her! Where was this person when the Dursleys beat her in her childhood? Where was this person when Dudley and his gang tried their best to make her life one of pure hell? When she was beaten to have the audacity to have better marks than Dudley? When she was forced to steal to have decent clothes, food and the commodities any child took for granted long before he was able to walk?

"With due respect, Professor, " she said, not managing to keep the anger and the hate out of her voice, to the point her Head of House examined her with concern. "If the person Headmaster Dumbledore has left to keep an eye on me had done his bloody job, my so-called uncle and aunt would be in jail today for childhood abuse today."

Flitwick went very still at her accusation. Alexandra was not yet over.

"As for what I did during the holidays, you can say to my magical guardian," she underlined the last two words with all the venom she was able to muster, "that if he wants to know, he can very well pose me the question himself."

"The Headmaster has ordered me to cease your tutoring in private duel sessions if you persist in this path." Affirmed Flitwick in a voice which made clear how against and powerless he was concerning the new move made by the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"You can say to him I was at Hermione's home for most of the summer." Alexandra told her Senior Charms Professor. "Hermione will confirm." Her Gryffindor friend had accepted to be Alexandra's alibi should someone worry about her disappearance.

"Then there won't be any problem at all." Affirmed Flitwick in a more relaxed tone.

"In this case, my magical guardian will just find another excuse to justify his order to stop our sessions." Corrected Alexandra. "Either he will say I'm too advanced compared to the rest of my year-mates or something equally ridiculous but impossible to deny."

"Surely things will not come to that." Protested Flitwick. But his voice lacked any conviction when he said it. The Charms Professor was better placed than her to know it was one more attempt to destroy tutoring, apprenticeships and personal teachers from setting a foot inside the noble institution known as Hogwarts. The British school had an infamous reputation for that sort of things, starting way back in the eighteenth century. Perhaps it was not personal. Perhaps Dumbledore regarded duelling practise as something to nip in the bud to avoid foreign contamination. Not that the reasons were important in the end.

"Have you seen the buffoon we have for Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Flitwick did not even try to correct her language concerning the new Defence Professor. "Things are exactly that bad. The more I think about it, the less I am surprised to be able to defeat older students in duels. Hogwarts wizards and witches are completely unprepared to face any barely skilled opponent."

"You are certainly right." Sighed Flitwick. "But Dumbledore has the Board and the Wizengamot firmly in his grasp. Nothing I or you can do will change that. And we're not at war yet."

"War is already coming." Said Alexandra, remembering the noise of thousands goblins roasted alive and the dark inferno created by the Summon. "With its share of darkness...and atrocities."

With these last words, Alexandra rose from the armchair and left for the Common Room. The black-haired witch had no doubt the next day was going to be pure hell. Better to spend good sleep time before it. Why were the first days always such horrible moments to pass?


	24. Hate the Pixies, Loathe Lockhart

**Chapter 24**

 **Hate the Pixies, Loathe Lockhart**

 **2nd September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

It was at a very early hour Alexandra rose the next day. She had passed a horrible night, with nightmares of the giant fire salamander pursuing her, only to flee straight in the awful and traumatising smile of Gilderoy Lockhart. The Potter Heiress had been extremely thankful for the fact that she had a room of her own in the Ravenclaw girl dormitories, because if not her scream would have woken up the other girls sharing it. In spite of her best efforts, the black-haired girl had been unable to sleep soundly again after this. At seven o'clock, Alexandra rose and began to prepare for the day which was just beginning. At least this year wasn't beginning in the infirmary, right?

The Ravenclaw Common Room was still almost empty when she traversed it, a seventh-year boy plunged in a large book being the only human presence she could see. The corridors had about the same frequentation, and when she entered the Great Hall Alexandra saw she was the fourth student to arrive, the second from Ravenclaw. Two Hufflepuffs from fifth or sixth year were also present. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables were deserted and the Head Table where the professors gathered wasn't more occupied: only Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had woken up, and both were busy discussing with energy something from a magazine of _Transfiguration Today_.

Seeing no one she was particularly close to, Alexandra decided to profit from the calm to have a long breakfast before the crowd arrived. The young witch walked to the Ravenclaw table... and stopped. On the seat she usually took, was an enormous ginger cat watching her with a begging expression.

"Crookshanks." The black-haired witch sighed, only to be answered by a large purr. "Why aren't you with Hermione in the Gryffindor girl dorms?"

Crookshanks took a quite sheepish expression, meowing in distress and throwing hopeful looks towards the empty plates.

"Crookshanks, this place is the Great Hall. It's where the humans eat. Not the cats."

A loud meow was the answer, with the large ginger feline trying to look as innocent and cute as a kitten. Needless to say, he failed miserably.

"What I am going to do with you, endless stomach?" Alexandra sighed, closing her eyes. Once she reopened them, she saw the cat she had offered to Hermione having come back to his begging expression, marked by small meows.

"Fine. But I will make sure Hermione punish you, fat piece of ginger fur!"

In answer, Crookshanks simply opened its maw, purring in victory.

Pushing the cat on the seat to her left, Alexandra began to eat her breakfast, sometimes giving a piece of toast or something else to Crookshanks, who purred in joy and delight.

Too absorbed in eating and feeding the large feline, Alexandra only noticed Professor Flitwick when he was almost in front of her.

"Good morning, Miss Potter. I see you have found a new companion." Said humorously her Head of House.

"He's not mine, Professor. But it was I who offered him as a present to Hermione, and he seems to like me."

"I see." Professor Flitwick was definitely amused, if his large smile was any indication. On her left, Crookshanks purred loudly jumping in the table and passing a paw on his large stomach.

"You have my timetable, Professor?" Alexandra asked. There were not many reasons why Flitwick would visit her on the first day, after all.

"Yes." Agreed the former Duellist Master, passing her a parchment, with a more impressive roll half-hidden under it. Alexandra narrowed her eyes, but her Head of House showed a sad, sorry smile.

"I was wrong, Miss Potter." He whispered in a low voice. "My excuses."

Alexandra couldn't stop a grimace. So Dumbledore had really wanted to stop her from having Duellist lessons. Why wasn't she surprised? Hiding the roll of parchment in one of the inner pockets of her school uniform, she threw a look to her timetable for the coming year.

Monday Transfiguration (Professor Porchester) Charms (Professor Dhillon) Lunch Astronomy (Professor Agarkar)

Tuesday Herbology (Professor Sprout) Herbology Lunch Astronomy (at night)

Wednesday Potions (Professor Whitehead) Potions Lunch DADA (Professor Lockhart) DADA

Thursday Transfiguration Charms Lunch Transfiguration

Friday Charms History (Professor Tiroflan) Lunch History (Professor Binns)

"A lot of new Professors this year." Commented Alexandra, all the while throwing a piece of toast to Crookshanks who gulped it down in one go.

"Indeed." Approved Flitwick, who smiled widely at the picture of the enormous cat on her left standing to attention and purring for one more. "Most of the Senior Professors leave the second-years to the Junior teachers. Like my colleague of Transfiguration, I personally teach the first-years and the students of fifth year and beyond."

Alexandra felt a certain sadness hearing this. They wouldn't have a class with Flitwick for three years? Her worry must have appeared on her face, as Flitwick smiled widely.

"Don't worry, Miss Potter. Once a month, we generally teach a class of each year to see if the students are following the program schedule fixed by the Ministry. And Professor Dhillon, while not a Duellist Master like me, has gained his Charms Mastery with distinction and I've never heard a complain about him. Continue to work and train as you did last year, you will not have any problem to keep your ranking."

"Thank you, Professor." Alexandra replied, trying her best not to blush, and failing. After an eternity being reviled by the Dursleys to have the audacity of doing better than the enormous whale called Dudley, an adult approving her marks and efforts was a nice and pleasurable change.

As the Charms Professor turned back and marched to the Head Table, Alexandra fixed again her new timetable with a disgusted expression. Today was Wednesday, and sure enough the day promised to be a monumental chore. Potions and Lockhart, on the same day? It was a disaster waiting to happen. At least for this week it was not as hard it would be in later months: having Astronomy the night before was going to ensure everyone would arrive in the dungeons sleepy and tired. The only minor hope she had was the fact Professor Snape was not the teacher of the second-years.

By comparison, the rest of the week was much more amusing. With two classes of History and one of Charms on Friday, this day promised to be extremely relaxing and perfect to catch up the homework and sleep accumulated during the rest of the week.

Monday and Thursday were mixes of Charms, Astronomy and Transfiguration, and so shouldn't be too much of a problem, if the Junior Professors were like Professor Flitwick and McGonagall. And Tuesday was the day they passed in the greenhouses all morning. No overall, except Wednesday, not a bad timetable.

"Good news?" Asked a familiar voice. Posing the timetable on her knees, Alexandra rose her eyes to see Nigel taking a seat in front of her.

"Depends on the definition of good news." Said Alexandra, remarking the Great Hall was filling itself. "Oh, and your cat is a big scoundrel, Hermione." Seeing her bushy-haired friend sitting on her right.

"Figures." Grumbled the Hermione, who looked to have woken up on her left foot.

"Has something of note happened in Gryffindor Tower last night?" Alexandra asked.

"You could say that." Grimaced Nigel, while serving himself, a large part of porridge and several eggs. "Half of the House cheered for Longbottom, Weasley and Black, then the Weasley Twins threw an improvised party to celebrate their arrival. We couldn't go to our beds before midnight. Apparently, travelling to Hogwarts in a Flying Car is cool and epic." The tone of the Gryffindor boy was evidence enough he wasn't sharing the feeling.

"I wonder if they informed the rest of the Lions they lost one hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor when they made that stunt?" Hearing Hermione and Nigel gasp in shock, Alexandra realised the answer was no.

"I'm going to strangle them." Whispered Hermione in a cold and dangerous tone. Alexandra winced. Hermione had always taken pride in earning dozen of points for Gryffindor, a large mattress of rubies in the hourglass that the Boy-who-Lived and his accomplices emptied regularly. Alas, even for her, earning one hundred and fifty points was going to take a long time, assuming the troublemakers didn't lose more in the current month. Until then, Gryffindor was in the negative points and infamy.

 _It has to some kind of a record..._

"The post is due any minute, now." Said Nigel in an ill-at-ease tone. "I hope my father was at home. I forgot some quills and clothes...

"You will be fine." Said Alexandra, noticing Morag MacDougal was taking the place directly on her left. Weird, she had supposed it had been only curiosity which had made her first-mate housemate speak with her last night, but apparently the red-haired girl wanted something more.

What she wanted, though, passed to the second rank of Alexandra preoccupations as hundreds of owls streamed into the Great Hall, dropping here and there dozens of letters and packets to the assembled students. An ordinary brown owl delivered Alexandra the _Daily Prophet_ to her, normal as her subscription she had given in the summer would continue for three more days. Morag MacDougal received a letter from an owl she was used to communicate with, if the caresses and the bit of bacon given were any indication. A big, lumpy parcel bounced off in Nigel's plate, the big owl apparently not judging good to stop one more instant to adjust its precision.

"It was my grandfather's owl." Said Nigel in a gloomy tone which explained everything.

But the real attraction was happening at the Gryffindor table this morning, where Ronal Weasley pushed a loud scream at the sight of a red, smoking envelope.

"Oh, look." Said Morag. "Weasley has received a Howler."

"Is it too late to leave the Great Hall?" Asked Alexandra rhetorically. She had heard two of the noise bombs last year when the Weasley Twins had blown up a toilet and for something else. The least that could be said, was that the voice of the Weasley matriarch had the level appropriate to raise the dead and flee for their resurrected lives.

In a shaking hand, the youngest boy of the Weasley opened the letter. Most of the students around him had stuffed their fingers in their ears and one brief second later the reason became quite evident. For a moment, most of the students were left reeling, as a roar of legendary proportions had echoed in the Hall.

"… STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE …"

Alexandra didn't know if Mrs Weasley screams had the same power in reality, having never met the woman when roused in anger, but her wrath certainly seemed formidable. The implements and the plates were rattling, and the sound was echoed magically off the walls of Hogwarts. Worse from the red-haired boy point of view, it was so sonorous that almost everybody had stopped eating and chatting to see and hear who had been the unfortunate student receiving the Howler.

"… LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU, LEO AND NEVILLE COULD BOTH HAVE DIED …"

Alexandra was really interested by this point. She knew most of the correspondence out of the school was handled by Professor McGonagall, but the Weasleys had received one letter from Dumbledore? The adults of the Weasley family had certainly a particular relationship with the Headmaster, then.

"… ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A loud silence fell in the Hall, the children and teenagers still under the shock their eardrums had recorded in all its fury. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ronald Weasley hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. In the middle of the Hogwarts table, Neville, Leo and Ronald stood stunned, just as a hurricane had sent them to another plane of existence.

Gradually, the talks restarted, with loud laughs coming from the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, with several second and third-years pointing and parodying the guilty trio.

"Oh, no." In spite of the conversations returning, the voice of Neville Longbottom carried very well and Alexandra was fast enough to redirect her attention on the Gryffindor to see a familiar red letter fall right in front of the Boy-Who-Lived. Judging her ears had taken enough with the Weasley Howler, Alexandra quickly told a "See you later at Lunch" to Nigel and Hermione before racing out of the Great Hall. Not fast enough, alas.

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM! NEVER I HAVE FELT SO ASHAMED OF BEING YOUR GRANDMOTHER! WHEN YOU COME BACK HOME..."

Going back to Ravenclaw Tower to take her Potions affairs, Alexandra winced in pain under the loud voices still ringing in her head. First her nightmares during the night and then this. Was it possible to have a journey at Hogwarts without any loud animations?

BOOM!

"PEEVES!" Screamed the caretaker Filch, running in a nearby corridor." WAIT A MINUTE I WILL CATCH YOU!" Okay, apparently not.

Half an hour later, Alexandra was in front of the Potions classroom in the dungeons. The atmosphere in this place was as dark and gloomy as ever, and the twelve-year old girl wondered once more time how the members of House Slytherin weren't all depressed this environment. There was really little light, and even for the beginning of September the temperature was rather cold.

When she arrived, there were only two Ravenclaws present of her own year: Stephen Cornfoot and Antony Goldstein. Alexandra didn't know the two boys well, and judging by the face they made when they saw her, this state of affairs was not quite likely to change. Soon enough, however, a loud chatter announced the arrival of all the second-year Hufflepuffs and the rest of the Ravenclaw boys and girls.

"Oh, here you are." Said Morag MacDougal, who had been in the group which had just arrived. "You missed all the fun."

"I think my ears will thank me later from having escaped the Howler of Mrs Longbottom." Affirmed Alexandra in a sarcastic tone.

"Mrs Longbottom? Oh, no, I was talking about the Howler Sirius Black sent to his son. Told all the Great Hall all proud he was of him, how flying to Hogwarts was a superb prank worthy of the Marauders."

Something clicked in Alexandra's head and she suddenly remembered where she had heard the term 'Marauders' the last time. It had been in one of the old issues of the Daily Prophet, when she had searched for information about her parents. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The Marauders. A group of extremely brilliant students, taking some of the highest scores ever recorded at their OWLS. And some of the worst punishments and detention records for their pranks and permanent indiscipline. Longbottom and co wanted to follow on their predecessors steps, didn't they?

"Completely irresponsible." Alexandra answered to Morag. "At least Weasley and Longbottom received a message telling them they were idiots, and not to do it again. This Sirius Black doesn't look like an adult which has the sense of responsibilities."

The saddest part of this was that the man had been named her godfather by her parents and her potential guardian if something happened to them. Only the man had refused to take care of her and let Dumbledore of all people become her magical guardian. Proof that her parents' judgement on the man had been totally unreliable.

"Agreed." Said Morag. She had not the time to say more. A wizard looking to be in his thirties with hair oscillating between the brown and the black came into view and opened the door with a flick of his wand.

"Enter!" He barked, in a snap all too reminiscent of Snape the last year. So the man was Professor Timothy Whitehead, the Junior Potions Professor. The wizard didn't look like a pleasant man. His face was a nasty sneer, he had an ugly scar near his throat and his clothes were of a scaly material which looked similar to the dragon-skin gloves all the students wore in Potions. Everything in his attitude screamed 'arrogant pure-blood'.

Entering the dungeons, Alexandra felt all her hopes that Potions class would be better this year evaporate like water in the forges of Barad-Dûr. The classroom was as sinister as the one of Professor Snape, and there were already names enchanted over the different seats, sign they were not going to have the choice of partner for this lesson.

Alexandra was not the only one in a sombre mood. Most of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff present had clearly hoped that not having Professor Snape was the next best thing to a victory, only to realise his replacement in front of them was perhaps worse. Okay, not worse, maybe as bad. Moreover, most of them had passed last year with a single partner and knowing you had to work with another partner in Potions was an unpleasant change.

Alexandra personally didn't mind, as she had always been paired with Zacharias Smith, and the boy was to be polite a disaster in Potions. Generally, handling him for more than a few minutes under Snape's taunts was more than enough to put anyone in a bad mood. It was with a certain relief therefore, that she noticed her partner for the morning would be none other than Morag MacDougal. Smith, on the other side of the room, seemed to have understood the challenge waiting for him. His partner Sally-Anne Perks was sending him threatening glares promising painful retribution if he exploded something.

Whitehead didn't bother asking questions. After having called their names, he took their holidays homework and unveiled the instructions to make a potion easing digestion problems. According to the Professor, the final result would be an azure blue colour with a smell of lemon.

"Prepare the ingredients, Morag." Alexandra whispered to her designed partner, drawing her wand and lighting a fire under the cauldron they shared. "I will deal with the rest." The red-haired witch on her right didn't protest, and her face sounded almost relieved when Alexandra took charge of the cauldron.

The two hours which passed after that were not a pleasant time for the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws. Last year, the magical potions made lasted rarely more than an hour; the work they had just been demanded lasted two, and while not extremely complicated one step missed was enough to utterly ruin the potion. Not surprisingly, Zacharias Smith had managed to transform the cauldron in front of him into a substance half-metal half-acid and was sent to the infirmary with burns on his hands. Just in face of Whitehead's desk, the cauldron of Wayne Hopkins and Terry Boot made sounds and was illuminated of a reddish colour which presaged nothing good.

Professor Whitehead was anything but a help in this class. The man was looking more and more like a cheap version of the much more dangerous Professor Snape, making snide remarks and useless comments, but missing completely the lectures or what exactly had went wrong for a potion. Professor Snape was extremely talented in Potions, even his greatest critics were forced to admit it; by comparison Whitehead looked like he had had his Potions licence in a trickster kit. The adult only useful acts appeared to vanish the failed potions which turned dangerous and send to the infirmary those who were wounded. Alexandra was sure the accident which had befallen Roger Malone was pretty much the teacher's fault: the man had pretty much interrupted the Hufflepuff with one of his nasty mockeries in order to make him forget the timing to add the cloves. No wonder Potions was no one's favourite class.

"Looks like it's good." Whispered Morag, at the end of the imposed class. Indeed the liquid inside the cauldron had taken a pale blue consistence, and Whitehead had not bothered making a comment at his last pass, instead choosing to go critic the poor Hannah Abbot behind Morag.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the double class of Potions, Alexandra's pair and the tandem between Susan Bones and Su Li were the only ones to have a potions to the Professor's expectations and received as a result 'only' five inches on the possible uses for the potions they had just done. The rest of the class was less lucky, twenty inches to give back next Wednesday, along with a dissertation how they had failed today. In all Ravenclaw had lost nine points and Hufflepuff eighteen. No one had managed to earn any House points, and the students were in low spirits when they filtered back in the Great Hall.

 _Great teaching, Professor. Superb teaching._

At lunch, Alexandra saw Hermione and Nigel were perhaps in a worse state than her, having just undergone a session with Binns. The ghost teacher, not to be worried, was as boring as ever.

"What've you got this afternoon?" Asked Alexandra, changing the subject. Speaking about Binns was in general sure to put you under sleep. The lassitude generated by the ghost knew no limits.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." Affirmed Hermione too quickly not to be suspicious at once.

"Why," asked Nigel, throwing a look over Hermione's shoulder to glimpse the Gryffindor timetable, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione plunged back the piece of parchment in her school bag, flushing furiously. Alexandra turned her head towards Morag, expect the Ravenclaw girl was red like a tomato too.

"Don't tell I did not warn you about Lockhart." Alexandra remarked with a snout reflex.

Nigel, Hermione and Alexandra finished lunch and then began to march towards the Defence's class, Alexandra always closely followed by Morag. Hermione had still her nose buried in the _Voyage with Vampires_ book, and was almost rammed in the corridors three times.

As they reached the room where the class was supposed to happen, the four students heard the pompous voice of Gilderoy Lockhart high and clear giving advice.

"A word to the wise, Neville, I covered up for you back there with young Creevey – if he was photographing me, too, your schoolfellows won't think you're setting yourself up so much …"

The new Senior Professor of Defence was dragging a stammering Boy-Who-Lived up the stairs, not really caring about Neville's protestations. Lockhart was not finished delivering his advice, alas.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible – looks a tad bigheaded, Neville, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but –" the blonde-haired threat gave a little chortle, "I don't think you're quite there yet."

Alexandra was not sure to laugh or to cry at that last sentence. Well, it was not like her Professor had a small ego, wasn't it? Finally, Gilderoy Lockhart let Neville go once they were right in front of the class, and the Boy-Who-Lived fled faster than you could say 'Quidditch', being understandably willing to put the greatest distance possible between him and Lockhart.

All the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw entered the class, and Alexandra had placed herself in the last places of the queue, so she wasn't able to see the decoration of the classroom before the rest. Once she had a vision of it though, the black-haired witch gasped. Someone, and Alexandra had a good idea of who, had painted the whole class in a nauseating pink colour, leaving only the black board, well black. Over every wall, were hanged dozen of Lockhart pictures or paintings. And with the magic of the wizarding world, all were moving smiling, prancing, strutting about their hair, smiles and stimulating Lockhart's ego. It was a sickening display of how big the Defence Professor ego was.

"I think in hindsight I preferred garlic..." Murmured Alexandra.

Immediately, she searched the place the place the furthest away from Lockhart and sat at the end of the room, with Nigel sitting on her right. To her surprise, neither Morag no Hermione had followed the two, instead choosing to fight for the places on the first ranks. It was Longbottom, Black and Weasley who sat on the places just before and Nigel.

Ronal Weasley was sniggering right now.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," said the red-hair Gryffindor menace. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, they'll be starting a Neville Longbottom fan club."

 _Oh, Ronald Weasley. You are so far behind the news._

The Boy-Who-Lived sent a glare filled with so much venom the Weasley boy moved back unconsciously.

"Shut up." The Potter Heiress heard him snap in an angered tone. Looks like Gilderoy Lockhart had been very efficient in hitting his nerves.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Hermione's copy of _Voyage with Vampires_ and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well in a completely ridiculous manner, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

Alexandra had a sudden envy to levitate her desk and send it straight at her professor's face.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done."

 _As if we had the choice_ , thought Alexandra bitterly.

"I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in …"

Lockhart then proceeded to hand-out a large pile of parchments, which looked quite voluminous. Against herself, Alexandra felt hope appear. Maybe, just maybe the teacher wasn't so bad. Controlling their knowledge could be the mark of someone who cared about their curriculum, no?

When he had handed out the test papers Lockhart returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes. Start – now!"

Alexandra looked down at her paper. And read the first question. Then the second. By the time, she had arrived to the tenth, she knew without doubt Lockhart was useless. By the twentieth, there was still no sign of anything concerning Defence against the Dark Arts. Just Lockhart, Lockhart and again Lockhart.

By the fortieth, she was devastated. By the last and fifty-fourth question she was openly laughing, having realised the idea of joking about this waste of paper was better than crying. She and Nigel looked at each other, and she whispered a quick "useless" to which Nigel approved darkly.

If this was the norm of every classes with this sad excuse of a professor, Alexandra swore she wasn't going to stay long in this class. Exhaling a loud breath, she then began to write her own answers.

1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

 **Rose-Fuchsia. Disgusting colour, but what do I know?**

2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

 **Becoming Minister of Magic. Being promoted over your level of incompetence is the norm in politics.**

3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

 **Selling so many of his books to the students of Hogwarts. He must have made a fortune with it.**

4\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite food?

 **Ambrosia. With his ego, only the food of the gods is enough.**

5\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite drink?

 **Nectar. With his ego, only the drink of the gods is enough.**

6\. How many witches did Gilderoy Lockhart save in _Voyage with Vampires_?

 **None. It was the witches who saved him.**

7\. How many werewolves did Gilderoy Lockhart defeat in _Wandering with Werewolves_?

 **None. He ran away when he heard their howls.**

8\. How many ghouls did Gilderoy Lockhart defeat in _Gadding with Ghouls_?

 **None. The ghouls were insulted by his smile and went elsewhere.**

9\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's only weakness?

 **Skill. Having a mouth bigger than his capabilities. Having an ego bigger than a mountain. Oh, I'm sorry. You only needed one?**

10\. What has Gilderoy Lockhart ridden of by only smiling?

 **His brain cells and the intelligence of many witches.**

11\. In how many countries are Gilderoy Lockhart's books published?

 **One. No country but Britain is stupid enough to authorise their publication.**

12\. What did Gilderoy Lockhart defeat in his travels in Egypt?

 **Tourists and mosquitoes. The Egyptian government is still investigating about the former.**

13\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest attribute?

 **His ego. A weapon so redoubtable it can pulverise almost everyone.**

14\. How many awards has Gilderoy Lockhart received in foreign countries?

 **None. They recognised him as the fraud he is.**

15\. Which magical component forms Gilderoy Lockhart's wand core?

 **Liar's Teeth reduced in powder.**

16\. What is the biggest creature Gilderoy Lockhart has ever defeated?

 **A rabbit. A dwarf rabbit he defeated in a two-long hours battle by boring it to death.**

On and on Alexandra wrote until she reached the last page.

54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

 **December, 25th because he wants to take the place of Santa Claus. As for his gift, it would be having brainwashed everyone so he would never be revealed as a fraud.**

Ten minutes later, the fraud aka Gilderoy Lockhart collected in the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully_ – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

He gave them another ridiculous smile. Alexandra tightened her fists, counting to hundred and doing her best not to think about drawing her wand and cursing Lockhart here and there. Nigel was now staring at Lockhart with the expression one reserved to those in the asylum or under hallucinogens; in the front of the class Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were shaking with silent laughter. Most of the other Gryffindor and Ravenclaw boys were looking at him with plainly disgusted expressions.

On the other hand, many witches looked at their Professor with adoration and Alexandra realised with disgust this number included Hermione. Weird. Had they not done the same test as the boys and realised the stupidity of the wizard in front of them?

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact –" he flipped her paper over, "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart flashing his teeth which shone so brightly it was borderline insulting. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business …"

The flashy fraud bent down behind his desk and lifted a large cage, covered by a purple-violet sheet which stopped all the students to know what was inside.

"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Alexandra had the deep sense something terrible was about to happen. She didn't see the new Professor putting a troll in this small cage, but...

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the violet sheet, unveiling a cage full of little blue-coloured creatures.

"Yes," he said in a dramatic tone which sounded somewhat wrong in her ears. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Seamus Finnigan in the first rank couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter which even Lockhart couldn't mistake for anything else.

"Yes?" Lockhart smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not – they're not very – dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

Alexandra was forced to admit Seamus as a point. Cornish pixies were generally calm creatures, classified by the British Ministry as a category X. No deaths or serious casualties recorded in over a century. Anything but a mortal threat.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart with another flashing smile, pointing a finger in an imperious manner at the still smiling Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

From her position, all Alexandra could see was that the pixies were electric blue and about seven or eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of women with shrilled voices speaking at the same time. The moment the sheet had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and pulling insulting faces at the people nearest them. They looked quite agitated and not the least peaceful. In fact, they looked really angry. Having a bad feeling, Alexandra took her wand from her holster and placed in front of her, ready to use it if the situation degenerated.

"Right then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And in a move no one had expected, Lockhart opened wide the cage.

It was an indescribable chaos. The pixies shot in every direction faster than the Bludgers on a Quidditch pitch, so fast Alexandra had trouble following them. Several shattered the window, unleashing a rain of broken glass. Two of them seized Seamus Finnigan by the feet and lifted him into the air. Three were tearing apart the Lockhart pictures from the walls. Other took possession of ink bottles and sprayed every desk and student with it. Books were torn apart. The papers were nothing more than ruins. The pixies hitched Seamus Finnigan to the candelabra in the ceiling by the feet.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies …" Lockhart shouted, in pure loss as the majority of the students had ducked under their desks, leaving the pixies the control of the class.

 _If they're only pixies, why aren't you doing something, fraud?_

The Defence Senior Professor rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It didn't look like a real spell with no Latin basis and for good reason: it had absolutely no effect whatsoever. One of the pixies seized Lockhart's wand and threw it out of the window, without its owner managing to utter another incantation. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Seamus Finnigan, who fell a second later as the candelabra gave way. Then Lockhart simply ran away towards the door leading to his office.

"I knew he was a fraud." Snarled Alexandra. Judging enough was enough and that Lockhart has proved to be as incompetent as she had feared, she levitated her desk with a quick Wingardium Leviosa and send it slamming against the three pixies which were tearing the photos off the wall. With a Petrificus Totalus, the Ravenclaw witch sent another of the blue fairies stunned on the floor. Feeling she had now the perfect opportunity to unleash all her frustrations of the last day, she poured a good part of her repertory of minor hexes, jinxes, charms and other spells to use. One by one she sent the creatures limping down the crown in a rainbow of magic, although many tried to retaliate, forcing her more than once to duck and avoid some nasty projectiles.

The green-eyed witch was not the only one to use her wand against the Pixies, Nigel behind her casted minor defensive jinxes for defensive purposes. Neville Longbottom and Leo Black were pouring a deluge of serious hexes on the swift pixies. Ron Weasley was trying desperately fighting one of the blue creatures with a wand alternating heavy smoke and lightning.

 _What in Hell happened to his wand?_

Soon there were no more conscious Cornish Pixies in the classroom. Quick Levitation spells put the stunned creatures back in their cage. A deep silence fell, with students coming out from behind their desks to see if the disaster was over.

Looking all around her, Alexandra saw the classroom had been completely and totally demolished. It was like a storm had wrecked everything. And then the bell rang.

"Time to go, Nigel." Alexandra said to the Gryffindor boy who had let himself fall on one of the intact chairs in the back of the class, while the rest of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor rushed towards the exit. Most, she noticed, looked at her with impressed or fearful looks.

"Is it over?" Asked Nigel, trying to save what he could from the few pieces of his bag left together.

"The class is over. I think." Said Alexandra. Lockhart was nowhere in view at least. Thank the Gods of all Universes for small mercies. "Now if it's okay with you, I'm going to go to Flitwick's office and demand to be dispensed from the class of Defence Against the Dark Arts. At least until Lockhart isn't here anymore."

"He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience!" Protested Hermione, who had not escaped unscathed, as her hair and her robe were strained with black and red ink.

"No, he didn't!" Morag MacDougal vehemently intervened behind Hermione. "Sorry Hermione, but Lockhart didn't know at all what he was doing. These were only Cornish Pixies and he was unable to do a thing against them. He doesn't deserve to be a Professor. It's Alexandra, Nigel, Neville and Leo who did all the work."

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books – look at all those amazing things he's done …"

"He says he's done," Nigel muttered.

"Let's see the good side shall we?" Said Alexandra. "Lockhart will be gone by the end of the year, if the so-called curse in the post exists, it will make sure of it. And if not," her voice turned grim "I will deal with him personally with this fraud."

"But how are we going to learn all the spells for the end of the year? We have exams, and Quirrell wasn't that useless!" Asked Morag in a worried tone.

"Oh, that's simple." Replied Alexandra. "We are going to practise on our own. A lot."

Nigel paled at the sadist smile she made. What a smart boy.


	25. Second Year Trials

**Chapter 25**

 **Second Year Trials**

 **5th September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

To the consternation of Hogwarts half-sane student population, the rest of the week saw Gilderoy Lockhart continue to release in his class a certain number of magical creatures, almost if the Senior Professor of DADA tried to persuade himself the episode against the Cornish Pixies had been a fluke.

Unfortunately for him, if this had been his reasoning, it was a sounding failure. Penelope Clearwater, the sixth-year prefect of the Ravenclaws, took a certain success in describing in front of the whole House in the common room on Friday evening how Lockhart had been bitten by a sort of magical iguana in the rear. By the account of all witnesses, the backside of the Senior Defence Professor had been violet by the time the blonde-haired idiot reached Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing.

To sum up, Alexandra felt Lockhart had managed to do in three days what usually took teachers in the normal world decades: destroying his reputation in a most complete and total manner. Well, apart in the eyes of a few fan-girls like Hermione and Lavender Brown. Certain persons, in Alexandra's opinion, refused to acknowledge the truth no matter the number of proofs available.

By contrast, the rest of the week for the rest of the Ravenclaw second-years was almost uneventful. Almost. It was Hogwarts after all. They had their first courses of Charms and Transfiguration with Junior Professor Jeremy Dhillon and Junior Professor Brandon Porchester, who by a strange coincidence were respectively former alumni of House Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Still, the two men were competent, which was more you could tell about Binns and Tiroflan for the courses of History.

Professor Cuthbert Binns was still a ghost and boring like no one in the world managed to be. Goblin Rebellions here, Goblin Rebellions there...Goblin Rebellions forever! For the next month and a half the course was going to be about the Goblins Rebellions having occurred under the Roman Empire era. Blood and massacres, but with Binns sauce. Boring to death. Professor Tiroflan was still as lazy as ever. Professor Jeremy Dhillon, on the other hand, was a polite wizard in his forties whose only strange characteristics was his green hair, which he explained was the last reminder of a very nasty Quidditch after-match between Ireland and England. Apart from that, the man had many similarities with Professor Flitwick, although Alexandra still preferred the former Duellist Master. But perhaps she was a bit biased.

Professor Brandon Porchester, was more or less the same way compared to Professor McGonagall: very strict, demanding and not tolerating any kind of bullying or disorder in his class. The Junior Transfiguration Professor was not able to transform himself into an animal like the Head of Gryffindor, alas. The skill, which was called Animagus, was apparently terribly difficult to learn. And he was not fond of making a spectacular demonstration in the beginning of the class either. But this teacher was fond of punctuality, a fact Byron Vaisey and Theodore Nott learnt by arriving a minute late and losing ten points each for Slytherin.

Apart from that things had been relatively calm. Alexandra had discovered the long roll of parchment Flitwick had given her with her timetable was a list of spells her Head of House wished her to master "as soon as possible" in his own words. Given that there was over fifty of them, Alexandra expected a lot of work. Mastering the first one, the Disarming Charm, incantation _Expelliarmus_ , promised to be difficult as her first efforts had not been limited to disappointing red sparks. According a Defence book she had borrowed in the Common Room, the origins of the spell were rather vague. The British authors pretended it had been invented by Merlin himself. More earth-to-earth historians proclaimed it had been discovered and used by African wizards in Madagascar in the eleventh century. So much for historical accuracy.

It was not why Alexandra had woken up early on this Saturday cloudy morning, however. After a very fast breakfast, she went to the library. After what had happened this summer, she wanted to know more about Summons and magical weapons.

The reason why the raven-haired young witch wanted to know about the first was kind of obvious. In the depths of the mountain, only running away quickly and a do-or-die teleportation had saved her life from the monster of flames and shadows. If she faced such a demon again, which with her chance wasn't impossible, Alexandra wanted to have a bit more options other than running away, running away...and teleporting a safe distance away.

For the magical weapons, it was a bit more complicated. The green-eyed witch wanted to know the powers and the name of the silver sword she had grabbed in the goblin vaults, the sword in question-rechristened Glamdring, being currently hidden in the last compartment of her trunk. But since the twelve-years old had also seen a full goblin armoury, she also wanted to know why wizards and witches didn't use said weapons instead of their wands. Alexandra had seen the sheer power of the warhammer carried by the goblin general Warfist. This was far, far more power than anything generated by the hydra-core wand the Potter Heiress owned.

After one hour in the library, unfortunately, Alexandra hopes had been reduced to almost nothing. Using the magical index Madam Pince put at the disposition of every student making the demand, she had tried to search the term "Magical Summon", only to find Hogwarts library, celebrated as one of the best of the magical world, proposed in all...a single book on the subject. The work, _Beings of Other Dimensions_ by a certain Percival Yaxley, was in many ways worse than useless. On the first page, the author reminded the reader in big, red and black letters the Summoning of an entity was an offence punishable by death in Magical Britain, without even the bothersome need to organise a trial. The law had been apparently adopted in 1369 and never been repealed. Not exactly a good sign. Then the same warning was repeated on the second page, the third page and every page from number 4 to 19, with gruesome gravures reminding, in the author own words "how Summoning is a Dark Art and must be erased at all costs from existence" and "the number of deaths it has caused against wizards and witches is too huge for our society to bear". The rest of the book was a mix of some rumours, grandmother tales and the advice that if you ran into a Summon, you had to warn immediately the Ministry of Magic to be properly interrogated. The last point being repeated no less than fifteen times in four pages. In Alexandra's opinion, the book was worthy of the title 'scrap material'. The Ravenclaw girl had learnt more in two minutes seeing the goblin expeditionary force getting roasted than in half an hour reading this waste of parchment.

No one apparently in the magical world had thought that knowing how to fight a Summon could have been useful information to have. You know, just in case a rogue Summoner went on a killing spree and wanted to conquer the world. Which given the power of the conjured Salamander was far from impossible.

The search on 'Magical Weapons' didn't go better. True, there were fifteen books on them against the sole Summon one, but all were virtually of the same worth. Null. First, every author warned the production of war magical weapons was banned as a result of the ICW convention of Vienna in 1812. Secondly, each author declared the knowledge of forging and developing said weapons was also banned thanks to a Wizengamot vote passed in March 1947. This was limited to Britain alone, the rest of Europe had been quite happy to keep their swords, staffs, sceptres and mighty artefacts. And third, the means to recognise and identify such weapons was forbidden to any common citizen, the only parties not concerned by the restriction being the wise and competent Ministry authorities, a decision voted by the Wizengamot in April 1947 after the ravages of the Grindelwald war became all too noticeable.

Interesting detail, the two last points were vigorously contested as a "mistake" by the less eloquent authors and a "stupidity" by the most vocals ones. In fact, fourteen of the fifteen books had about a third of their pages openly vilipending the Wizengamot laws which had utterly destroyed any possibility to forge, maintain or develop new magical weapons such as swords, axes, spears and everything which had a pointed end but which was not a wand.

Her curiosity titillated by the accusations, Alexandra ranged back the books on their rows and shelves, before marching to the section of Hogwarts library where the archives of the _Daily Prophet_ were kept. Finding the 1947 year took only a couple of minutes. And the corresponding editions of the law were found after a few more seconds, before going back to her usual seat.

Not that it was exactly difficult to find. From March 1 1947 to March 27 1947, the title of the _Daily Prophet_ was trumpeting more or less variations of the same headline. "WAR WEAPONS BANNED!", "CHIEF WARLOCK BANS WEAPONS!" or "OUR ENCHANTED WEAPONS ARE BANNED!". And under each big title, the photo of the man who had made the law pass. A man Alexandra and all the Hogwarts students saw every time when he was sitting on his seat at the Head Table. Albus Dumbledore. Of course.

The rest of the newspapers gave a bit more information, but little to the actual debate. The author had been more concerned by the fact the law had passed the needed majority by only three votes, and was openly criticising, journalist impartiality be damned, the families which had voted against such a decision. The name of a certain Lord Abraxas Malfoy was at the head of the list, by a strange coincidence. Crabbe, Goyle, Black, Lestrange, Travers, Mulciber and dozens of Houses having on this very day members in Slytherin had followed Malfoy's lead. But there were more interesting names following them. Bones. MacDougal. Longbottom. And almost at the very bottom of the list, Lord Charlus Potter. Alexandra's own paternal grandfather.

"Well, that's a surprise..." Whispered Alexandra. A quick search in the laws proposed by Albus Dumbledore and voted for the rest of the first 1947 semester showed her paternal grandfather had always voted against the actual Headmaster of Hogwarts. Strangely, most of the journalists chose to ignore completely the fact a House normally aligned with the so-called 'Light Party' voted with the 'Dark supporters'. Of course they neglected to speak about many of the 'Neutral Houses' political stances too...

"What is a surprise?" Asked a voice in front of her. Surprised as she had been busy reading, Alexandra left the newspaper fall on her lap, drawing her wand from the holster on her forearm and pointing it towards... Morag?

"Nice welcome." Said the red-haired Ravenclaw in a trembling voice, her face was considerably paler than usual, as Alexandra was pointing her wand directly between her eyes.

"Don't surprise me again like that!" Whispered Alexandra in a furious voice, posing her wand on the table right to the dispersed edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Well normal persons, you know, don't draw their wand until they're threatened! There's something called paranoia you know!" Whispered Morag in anger.

"Normal persons don't go to Hogwarts." Replied Alexandra in a trait of black humour. "And you should know you're only paranoiac if nobody is after your life. Otherwise, you're just prudent."

"I suppose it makes sense." Said grudgingly Morag. "But you know... not everyone is trying to kill you at Hogwarts."

"Not everyone." Alexandra rolled her eyes at this. "I'm sure a good quarter of the school has wanted my death at one point or another since I entered this school. And the three other quarters would in all certainty sell the tickets for my execution and buy the fireworks for the burial."

"That's not true!" Protested Morag a bit vehemently, before lowering her shoulders in defeat. "Okay, some Ravenclaw really wanted to hurt you. You're his daughter, after all!"

Alexandra winced at this. More than a year had passed, but she was still trying to avoid thinking about the fact her father had been condemned as a traitor. Although to be fair, the Potter Heiress cared far more about the issue the man had abandoned her mother and herself to the wizarding equivalent of pitches and torches.

"What changed?" She asked, closing her yes an instant and preferring to direct the conversation on far safer subjects.

"Are you kidding?" Morag asked. "You managed to defend yourself from twenty students on your very first day at school, defeated every student who tried to ambush you and ultimately killed a mountain troll and a Professor by yourself!" Morag seemed to have checked her sources since the Sorting. "Do you realise how rare that is?"

"Very, I suppose." Admitted Alexandra. "Else some students I know the name would have banded together and dealt with me. Permanently."

"That's...that's not a very nice outlook on life."

"No, it's not." Alexandra agreed, waving her right hand in a sign translating how powerless she was to change the situation. "Unfortunately, it's the life I have been dealt with."

Alexandra emitted a small smile. "Why are you here, Morag? Apart from giving me heart attacks?"

"Officially, I want you to tutor me in practical magic." Said the Ravenclaw, her blue eyes deadly serious.

"Tutor you?" Repeated Alexandra. "But you don't need tutoring! You were just behind me in the rankings of first-year!"

"Exactly."

"I must have missed a point somewhere. Care to explain?"

Morag nodded, making a tress of her red hair almost unconsciously.

"You and Hermione Granger have certainly realised all the pure-bloods who entered Hogwarts have already a basic magic education in theory."

"Sure. And Professor Flitwick said Neville Longbottom had an official dispense from the Wizengamot to begin a magical training earlier than usual."

"Yes, Neville is a special case." Said Morag with a nod of her head. "If the rumours about him are true, he received his first wand when he was nine years old."

Alexandra stared open-mouthed at that. The Boy-Who-Lived had received a wand two years before she was aware the Wizarding World existed?

"I thought every child could only buy a wand at Ollivanders when they were eleven years old."

"That's the law. In reality, any old wizarding family worth the name has a lot of ancient wands lying in its vaults, and it's rare none are tuned to your magic. If it's not the case, there are always foreign shops that have a lower age requirement. The Houses just never advertise it. I received my first wand on my tenth birthday. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yes, I think I do." Alexandra sighed. "In one year, Hermione and I beat all of you, despite you and most of the pure-bloods having a good head-start on us, who come from having a non-magical education."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make any sense in some ways, though." The twelve-years old girl remarked, caressing absently her quill. "If you have the possibility of being taught magic and practise it before Hogwarts, how come people like Crabbe, Goyle, Smith, Weasley and others have marks so low? They would have to..." Alexandra had a horrified understanding in her mind. "They are that bad AFTER having had a preliminary magical education?"

The girl in front of her grumbled something which sounded like "apes" and "idiots" before fixing Alexandra in the eyes again.

"Yeah, they're that bad. And the gap is only going to widen in the next years. There are only two months of summer holidays, don't forget, and all the Heirs and Heiresses have social obligations we must train for and participate. Balls. Courting. Business meetings." Enumerated the red-haired Ravenclaw.

"Fine. But why me?" Alexandra asked."Aren't they private professors willing to go to Hogwarts? Or older students wanting to teach the younger ones?"

"They are." Affirmed Morag MacDougal. "But you need the board of Governors and the Headmaster approval. Professor Dumbledore had refused every time since he became Headmaster to let a professor not paid by him enter the grounds." Her voice had turned rather frosty at the last sentence. Evidently, Morag and her family weren't the biggest admirers of the Headmaster.

"And older students are an option, but only at the beginning of the year. After, they have too little free time to spend it giving lessons. You, on the other hand, are already in the castle and you are much better than I am at the practical part of the classes. So yes, I want you to tutor me."

"Why should I accept? I refused already once somebody, and don't take it badly Morag, but before the Sorting Ceremony of Tuesday, I don't remember talking with you at all."

"I know you refused Zabini's offer."Affirmed her fellow second-year Ravenclaw. "Oh, don't be so shocked," she said as Alexandra eyebrows rose. "Everything at Hogwarts is known by everyone in a matter of minutes, especially when there's Lions or Snakes around."

"Too true." Alexandra answered, though thinking inwardly she would have to be a bit more careful who was around when she spoke to someone she didn't trust.

"But unlike Zabini I can give you an alliance with House MacDougal. Many of your enemies will hesitate to attack you in the corridors if I'm here with you."

"And unofficially?"

"I want a friend."

Alexandra paused a moment to consider. Honestly, considering the numbers of students per ambush last year, she was really not that sure adding one more second-year girl would have a deterring effect. On the other hand, having one ally inside the walls of the school could only be a good thing given the madness reigning in the school. Chances of survival and all of that.

Morag had never been among the students whispering dark rumours on her in the corridors in her back. And the shared classes in Potions had showed the red-haired pure-blood was not the worst person to have to your side.

After a few more seconds, Alexandra made her Heiress ring flash on her hand. Morag made a similar move with her own ring on the other side of the table.

"I accept your offer of alliance and friendship, Heiress MacDougal." Alexandra affirmed, holding her hand out to Morag who took it. A minor shock of blue magic glowed around the two hands. "Know however that if you betray me I will hunt you to the end of the Earth and beyond to make you pay."

Morag emitted a chuckle of laughter. "Consider me warned. It's not liked I wanted to be the first girl to suffer the wrath of the Exiled Queen this year."

"Exiled Queen?" Alexandra laughed at that. "No one never called me that in public!"

Morag rolled her eyes. "Of course not. And you will hear no one call Daphne Greengrass 'the Ice Queen' or Neville Longbottom 'the Prankster-Who-Lived' to their faces."

Alexandra was unable to stop laughing at that, a sound which attracted a furious glare from Madam Pince, and forced the two Ravenclaw girls made a quick escape from the library.

It was nearly the hour for lunch now anyway, so Alexandra and Morag descended the stairs to make their way for the Great Hall. They were immediately joined by Nigel and Hermione, before marching to the Ravenclaw table and starting to eat in a relatively calm atmosphere.

Peace didn't last. Just as Nigel was demanding Morag to pass him the orange juice, the doors of the Hall, opened, letting the respective Quidditch teams of Gryffindor and Slytherin enter.

When she saw them, Alexandra's first thought was _'Did they just make a war?_ '. The red and gold robes of the Gryffindor were dirty and full of holes. The usually perfect green and silver clothes of the Slytherin were in tatters. On the arms, legs and the face, each player had marks Alexandra clearly recognised. The young Ravenclaw had seen the same on her skin last year, after rough sessions of taking spell-fire from Flitwick. One of the Gryffindor Chasers, Spinnet or Spennet, she didn't remember, was staggering like she had participated in a boxing contest, and was supported by the other girls. On the Slytherin side, two of the Chasers had one of their arms immobilised, and Draco Malfoy had his noise covered in blood.

One minute. Why did the arrogant blonde was wearing the silver and green of the Quidditch team? No captain of any House had had the time in three days to organise any try-outs!

Of course, that wasn't the only question swirling in Alexandra's head at the moment. There was also the issue of the seven brand-new brooms in the process of being displayed by their owners in the middle of the Snake House's table.

"How in the name of Merlin did the Slytherin team did manage to buy seven models of the new Nimbus 2001?" Exclaimed Nigel, looking at the Quidditch players wearing the green and silver.

"If I had to take a guess, I would say the answer to that question wears blond hair and is holding its bleeding nose at the moment." Said Alexandra.

"Malfoy." The name came out of four mouths like a curse and not the prestigious House it was supposed to be.

"Why should he do such a thing?" Asked Hermione, always a bit lost when it came to Quidditch issues.

"It's evident, no?" Answered Morag. "The little slimy pounce is bribing Flint and the whole team."

"A brand-new Nimbus 2001 for each player against his place on the Slytherin team as Seeker? That's..." Nigel couldn't find words to finish his sentence.

"That's stupid." Said Alexandra. "We are only students and there are only three matches per Quidditch team at Hogwarts each year. Paying more than one thousand Galleons per broom to win the School Cup can't be described as a good investment."

"In fact, the price is 1483 Galleons, once you've finished to pay for the complete kit and the accessories which go with it." Intervened Morag with a smug expression.

"That's...very precise." Noted Alexandra.

"Morag's family owns the Comet Trading Company." Nigel smiled. "She knows probably the price of every single broom on the market."

"Not all." Protested Morag. "Okay, I have a good idea of every product which is sold today." She added before the rising eyebrows of Nigel.

"Alexandra is right, though. Malfoy is an idiot." Continued the red-haired Ravenclaw girl. "Bribing the captain with new brooms one week before the selections is neither a cunning nor a subtle move. It is against Quidditch tradition, and it's generally considered very bad form. He just proclaimed he was going to be the Seeker by throwing a lot of gold away, no matter his skill."

"And it wasn't cheap." Remarked Alexandra. "Paying seven brooms of 1483 Galleons each must have made a total price of ten thousand Galleons."

The last free member of House Potter shuddered at the sheer mass of money it represented. Her entire trust vault at the moment was around 11 600 Galleons worth, although she would have to wait her end of the month bank statement to have a firm confirmation. In one go, Draco Malfoy or someone of his family had just spent tenth-eleventh of this sum.

"Yeah." Morag looked like she was about to vomit as the heir of the Malfoy family made a spectacle of himself by parading with his new broom at his table, forgetting a moment his nose was covered in blood. "The main reason why Nimbus are so rare at Hogwarts is their price. Comet and Cleansweep models can be bought by an average student if their family is giving them a nice allowance or they're willing to save a lot of their pocket money, but Nimbus brooms are too expensive for players who are not professional. I know my parents are not giving me a thousand Galleons a year, and never it came in my mind to ask for this kind of sum. For one, they would laugh at me and for two, I have already a Comet 260."

"Look at the Snakes." Whispered Nigel. "There are some who aren't happy how Malfoy is acting."

Throwing a look behind her, Alexandra could see Nigel had a point. The entire Slytherin Quidditch team was attracting attention and people at the centre of their House table, but there were dozens of students from each year moving away from them and taking their lunch on the extremities. Some appeared a bit bothered, while others were downright furious.

The most interesting reaction though, was provided by Theodore Nott and an older boy Alexandra recognised as the Slytherin Seeker of last year, Terence Higgs. The two Slytherins had been seriously arguing with their Head of House, Professor Snape, moments ago, and were now coming back to the table launching betrayed looks to the Potions Master, then switching and glaring with pure hate in direction of Draco Malfoy.

"Higgs has certainly not enjoyed being ejected from the team without the formality of a try-out." Replied Alexandra in a low tone. "And I heard rumours last year Nott was thinking about challenging Malfoy for the Seeker position this season."

"I heard the same thing." Commented Morag, eating a piece of meat in her plate. "Apparently, Malfoy didn't want to face them in the pitch, so he convinced his daddy," her voice turned vitriolic, "to buy his way in the Quidditch team. Even with the most recent broom on the market, he didn't feel his victory was assured so he bribed Flint. What a loser."

"Well, Flint has never been known for his intelligence." Noted Hermione.

"Too true." There were reasons why a lot of Gryffindors pretended the Slytherin Captain had troll blood in the veins. Having met two mountain trolls and killed one, Alexandra had not overly been impressed by the species intelligence...

Seeing the Slytherin table, it was evident that Malfoy had acted too rashly. Of the second-year Slytherins, only Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson were surrounding him now. Byron Vaisey, the Carrow twins and Theodore Nott were at one extremity of the table, almost near the doors. No need to be a genius to know they weren't appreciated the self-aggrandising display of the seven Nimbus 2001. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were at the other side of the table, in front of the Professors. Only Millicent Bulstrode was staying near Pansy Parkinson, and the bulky girl appeared to have her doubts, judging by her conflicted expression.

"The first match of the season will be decisive for Malfoy." Continued Morag in a small smile, having apparently noticed the same divisions Alexandra had. "It's Gryffindor versus Slytherin, so Draco will play his reputation of Quidditch player and the influence he has in the Snake's Den at the same time.

If he wins, he will be probably retain his position as the unofficial leader of the Slytherin second-years. Maybe.

If he loses, Flint will throw him out the team and his power in Slytherin is going to be reduced to nothing. After that..." the pure-blood girl made a predatory smile, "...this is going to be a bloodbath. According to my sources, Draco Malfoy has stepped on too many toes not to pay the price sooner or later. It's not like Crabbe and Goyle will be able to protect him when wands are drawn."

"Can Neville beat Malfoy with an inferior broom?" Asked Nigel.

"Interesting question." Mused Alexandra. "Of course it assumes the Nimbus 2001 is superior to the 2000-model."

"What do you mean?" Asked Morag, in a very interested tone.

"Well, I'm far from a broom specialist," admitted Alexandra, "but according to Nigel here Nimbus is releasing a new competition broom every five years which thrashes the concurrence every time." Morag winced, but didn't dispute her point. "The Nimbus 2000, however, was released in June 1991 and the Nimbus 2001 in July 1992. The Nimbus designers must have rushed off the development of the broom to follow with a new model one year later."

"And if they rushed the development and the tests they could have missed a lot of design flaws." Morag widened her blue eyes and stared with her mouth open for a moment. "By the beard of Merlin you're right! And the League teams are buying this broom by the sevens for their star players..."

"But why the precipitation?" Asked Hermione. "They could make a lot of their clients furious if they sell a half-serviceable broom!"

"I don't know." Admitted Morag. "The Quidditch World Cup Finals will be played in England the next time, but the preliminaries will not begin until March 1993 and the Finals are in July 1994. Plenty of time still to create or perfect a new broom, England is qualified directly for the Finals as the Host country." Morag paused for a moment. "I will send a letter to my family. Maybe they will have some answers. Not sure they will tell me. Broom development secrets are worth they weight in gold."

Alexandra nodded. If the salary of a Quidditch player and the price of the brand-new competitions broom was any indication, the Quidditch market was literally a gold mine of thousands of Galleons for the families involved.

"Enough speaking of the little blonde brat." And the smile of Morag returned wider. "Some students saw you Alexandra buying a broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. Mind participating at the try-outs tomorrow?"

Alexandra could not stop a groan of despair.

 **6 September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The sky was clear on Sunday morning when Morag and Alexandra descended the large marble stairs of Hogwarts to march towards the Quidditch pitch. Despite the northern location of their magical school, this day promised to rather warm and sunny, no doubt one of the beautiful days of September all the inhabitants of Hogwarts regretted when the cold winds and the rain arrived on October.

In her new blue and bronze Quidditch robes, Alexandra fell strangely out of place, in spite of Morag assuring the contrary. She had never flown before a large public last year in the Flying lessons, so the fifty or so students already filling the stands and the noise they made was not boosting her confidence. On the ground, Alexandra was completely sure of her magical capabilities. In the air, relatively less so, especially with other aggressive players and Bludgers coming into factor. Sure, she had been complimented as a 'natural flyer' or something like that by Professor Hooch during the Flying Lessons, but the most difficult exercise they had been given was circling the Quidditch Pitch at a slow speed. The try-outs promised to be a lot more difficult.

Morag, by contrast, was looking like these try-outs were a pleasant hobby to pass her Sunday morning, and not like they were going to begin a game with a high possibility of a direct travel to the Hospital Wing. Her red-hair looking like a flashy corona in the light of the sun, the Ravenclaw pure-blood was smiling to several boys with her left hand, her right holding firmly a broom called the Comet 260.

Slowly but surely, they arrived at the centre of the Quidditch pitch, where close to three dozen Ravenclaw students were always waiting for. What Alexandra saw did not make her more confident. As far as she could see, Morag and she were the only second-year Ravenclaws having dared come to the try-outs as participants and not as spectators. To be accurate, they were two out of four girls, with a rather pretty Asian third-year and a muscled fifth-year representing the rest of the feminine population of the Ravens. The rest of the Ravenclaw students waiting with their brooms in hand were all bigger, taller and muscled boys from fourth-year and above. These try-outs promised...not to be fair.

Then a rather tall black-haired boy wearing the Quidditch Captain insignia walked in front of them, and the noise decreased briefly after.

"Good morning, all of you!" Said the older Ravenclaw in a loud voice. "For those who don't know me, my name is Roger Davies and I am the Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team."

"To my left," he waved his hand in the direction of a group of Ravenclaw students not in line with the others, "are Chaser Randolph Burrow, Beater Jason Samuels, Beater Duncan Inglebes and Keeper Grant Page."

Each of the boys called raised his hand and saluted when his name was called. Looking at each boy and girl waiting for the try-outs, Alexandra noticed a lot of unease. Everybody knew the players of last year kept their place, but knowing five places out of seven were already filled was not a morale booster.

"For those of you who know the basic rules of Quidditch," continued Roger Davies, "you know we are holding the try-outs for the posts of third Chaser and the Seeker. The team is also searching for four players in the reserve: a Chaser, a Keeper, a Beater and a Seeker.

Try-outs for the Chaser and Seeker positions are going to take place today. For the reserves positions of Keeper and Beater, the planning will be posted on the board of the Common Room next week."

The voice of the Ravenclaw Captain then turned humorous.

"As usual, it's the Captain's role to warn you that a place in the Quidditch team is not a ticket for a life where you sleep on a mountain of Galleons. If you let your grades slip during the year, Professor Flitwick will be warned and you will lose your position, no matter your performances on the Pitch. If you break too many rules and pass your time in detention, you will be thrown out of the team. Not going to the trainings which are twice per week is equally a source of dismissal. Being in the Quidditch team is an honour and a privilege. With a lot of skill and luck, some of you may be recruited when you leave Hogwarts to play at a professional level. Don't let this opportunity disappear because you feel a manager or a coach will take you no matter your grades.

Now let's begin the try-outs. Those who want to be Chasers, on my left. Those who are here for Seeker, on my right."

The group of Quidditch aspirants divided itself in two, Morag going with the potential Chasers while Alexandra went with the Seekers. After much deliberation and debate last evening with Nigel and Hermione when they got over their homework, the raven-haired witch had decided to give a try at the Seeker position. True, Seekers were sometimes, well no, always the favourite targets of the other team's Beaters, but simple logic told the green-eyed girl she had not the strength in the arms or the musculature to survive at a Chaser post more than a few seconds. A Seeker could always dodge the Bludgers in time, not being involved in the core of the action with the Quaffle. A Chaser had not this opportunity.

Clearly, she had not been the only one to think like that. There were only five more applicant Seekers, four boys who looked less muscled than the rest and the Asian third-year girl. All the other players, something between twenty-five and thirty older students, were going to try their chance for the post of Chaser. Morag, in the middle of these tall and sturdy boys, looked nimble and frail, despite the Ravenclaw boys being far from the corpulence of the gorillas the Slytherins aligned in their team.

"All right! First the Seekers!" Shouted Davies. "I am going to release seven training Snitchs! By the end of the session, the one who will have caught the greatest number will be the new Seeker!" His voice turned more enthusiastic. "Oh, and by the way, the Beaters have received the task to prevent you from catching one! And they have the real Bludgers! Good luck!"

Davies opened a small box, and instantly five small gold balls with wings escaped before disappearing out of view.

"Go!" Shouted Davies, and the six Seeker candidates jumped in the air on their brooms.

Once at several feet over the ground, Alexandra began to forget her earlier apprehensions. The air rushing in her face, the sensations of broom-riding and liberty, the sheer speed of her Nimbus 1500 compared to the obsolete school brooms she had been forced to use until there, all of it came back in a flow and she realised after a brief period of thoughtless elation she genuinely loved Flying. A lot.

Avoiding a Bludger sent by Samuels on her right, Alexandra dived quickly and began her search of a Golden Snitch.

It revealed not to be an easy task. Alexandra understood rapidly why Seekers took so much time in a Quidditch match to catch the little ball, and it wasn't because they were lazy. The gold targets were incredibly fast, swift, nimble and manoeuvred frankly well better than the better broom available in the shops selling Quidditch supplies. The Beaters were also not helping, Alexandra had been forced several times to abort the hunt of one Snitch to evade just in time a well-adjusted Bludger which would have sent her straight to the tender care of Madam Pomfrey.

The second-year Ravenclaw had not taken her watch with her this morning, but she was accurately aware the time was passing fast. The sun had risen a long time ago, and would soon reach its zenith.

At last, Alexandra saw a Golden Snitch flying near the posts and after a very long chase which saw her evade Bludgers three times and Chasers shooting penalties twice, she finally managed to catch the Snitch. Decreasing noticeably her speed, she passed near Davies and gave him the Snitch.

"Good job, Potter!" Shouted the older Ravenclaw. "Now try to catch another!"

Alexandra accelerated again, really intending to do so. But it was even more difficult now. Two of the boys in concurrence with her for the Seeker place had noticed her success, and were now sticking to her like glue. In the first seconds, the Potter Heiress thought it was somewhat flattering. It turned rapidly to annoying, as the Beaters could not honestly miss such a large group and were now sending Bludgers in their direction with an alarming regularity.

Finally, after one of the fourth-years boys tried to ram her when she had her back turned, Alexandra decided fair play was only useful if all parties agreed to it. Feigning to have noticed the Snitch, she dived at full speed towards the back of the stand, before at the last second climbing up vertically and avoiding a spectacular collision with the wooden wall.

CRASH! CRRRAAASSSH!

The loud noise of wood shattering behind her confirmed the two Ravenclaw boys had not managed to brake in time. Now ridden of her competition, the Potter Heiress used the full speed of her broom and soon was able to catch another Snitch. Five seconds after she did, a loud trill sounded and the magically amplified voice of Roger Davies resonated in the stadium.

"TRY-OUTS ARE OVER! GATHER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PITCH!"

Throwing a glance which was absolutely not sorry at the two aspirants Seekers who now were walked on levitating tenders to the Hospital Wing after their smash against the base of the stands, Alexandra lost altitude and descended from her broom near Morag in the middle of the pitch.

"I see your trial went better than mine." Smiled the red-haired Ravenclaw. "I only scored five goals in the free shots and none in the free-for all."

"Caught two Snitchs and sent two guys to the infirmary." Replied Alexandra, in a light tone. "Any idea what the others did?"

"I think Chang caught two too." Admitted Morag.

There was not a need to pursue the conversation.

Roger Davies descended from his broom in front of the assembled players to communicate them.

"All right! It was a nice session of try-outs, though I remind you it was only that: try-outs. Potter, making a Wronski Feint is authorised by the rules, but try not to send other players crashing next time. Or I will have to explain to Madam Pomfrey why so many of our players are in the infirmary."

Alexandra felt her face redden, as the crowd and the other players assembled laughed.

"Our new Chaser for the season is Jeremy Stretton, who marked ten out of ten free shots and scored five more goals in the free-for all. The Seeker will be Cho Chang, who caught three Snitchs in the time allowed."

Alexandra felt a point of disappointment, as the rather attractive third-year girl rose her hands in triumph. Still, there was nothing to say. She had been beaten fair and square. Once the acclamations for the two new players had lowered a bit, the Ravenclaw Captain continued.

"The reserve Chaser will be Raymond Bradley. For Second Keeper and Third Beater, Elliot Denald and Kurt Waltford. The Reserve Seeker will be Alexandra Potter. Next training for the titular team will be on Wednesday. The reserves will join us on Saturday afternoon. Thanks for your presence and your support!"

The last sentence did seem more to be addressed to the members of Ravenclaw House who had come in mass in the stands. Watching them for a moment as she left the pitch with Morag by her side, Alexandra estimated nearly three-quarters of Ravenclaw had come to see the try-outs, and there were many Hufflepuff and Gryffindor too present.

"Is it usual to have so many spectators for our try-outs?" She asked Morag.

"Not really, no." Replied the other girl, who seemed to have had the same reflexions, as her blue eyes were calculatingly evaluating the mass of cheering students. "But neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin have organised try-outs this year, so it is somewhat understandable."

"Well, now this over." Alexandra said with a relieved breath.

"Only if Chang manages to stay unharmed for each match of the season." Noted Morag. "Otherwise it's you who will be the Seeker."

"Oh come, on..." Alexandra's luck wasn't that bad. No?

 **7th December 1992, Hogwarts Scotland**

At a time where most diurnal beings, and in particularly humans, were soundly asleep, quite a few magical entities would have manifested a fair amount of surprise at the lights illuminating the working office of the Senior DADA Professor.

The masculine portion would have insinuated the deplorable low amount of intelligence did not allow Professor Gilderoy Lockhart to remain awake long in the evenings. The feminine representatives would have exclaimed their teacher needed his beauty sleep.

Both sides were completely wrong.

Wearing a robe that was neither ostentatious nor remarkable, the wizard pretending to be the most incapable wand-wielder since immemorial times was drinking a cup of tea while reading the masterworks of the papers he had posed in the last week.

It had been a very amusing affair, and the burst of laughter grasping him at frequent intervals had forced him to pass this hobby once there was no one in this wing, the fun being not worth breaking his cover of shining buffoon.

Finishing his drink after a wonderful example of sarcasm and not-so veiled insults had brought tears to his eyes, the American spy thought how to answer this humorous piece of parchment. After mere seconds, the Defence teacher sighed to himself.

What was the risk after all? Once the marks would enter the student formal record, Gilderoy Lockhart intended to be very far from this castle. It was not like he had intended to return the papers with unacceptable grades...too many complaints from angry parents demanding explanations.

The blonde-haired wizard took the majestic quill taken from a grey-brown owl and wrote in bright red ink the final grade in the records for the second-years students.

 _Alexandra Potter-Outstanding._

 **9 September 1992, Black Cobra Manor, England**

For a while, all the old woman felt was pain. Endless pain. Finally, the agony receded and her thoughts came back, one by one, scattered and dispersed.

"You are lucky to be alive, you know!" Growled the voice of the Healer she had personally hired to take care of her five years ago. "Practising such Dark Magic in your condition is asking for death!"

"I wanted...wanted..." The voice of the woman faltered, not managing to enounce more than a few words.

"You wanted to die? Because if it was what you wanted, I'm pleased to tell you you've perfectly achieved your goal." The Healer said, clearly in a bad mood.

"How...long?" The question came out like a croak.

"One month. Maybe two." Admitted the Healer. "Normally, your magic would have managed to heal most of the damage, but..." He didn't finish the sentence. His interlocutor knew very well why her body was in such a state, after all.

"Very well." The voice of the old woman came back with a bit of strength behind it this time. "I suppose I will have to make my preparations sooner than expected."

"Yes." Agreed the Healer. "And if you want to last that long, please refrain to practise anymore this kind of rituals. You will not survive another attempt!"

"I know." The woman said. "But I had to make the attempt. _Toujours Pur_."


	26. Black Tuesday

**Chapter 26**

 **Black Tuesday**

 **22 September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Alexandra was in the process of beating with her fists a recalcitrant specimen of Groaning Mushroom into its pot when the voice of Professor Sprout called her.

"Miss Potter! Mister Malfoy! Could you please come here?"

Sending a look of incomprehension to Morag who was her designed Herbology partner for the class, Alexandra struck the head of the mushroom with a heavy blow, forcing it to take root into the earth the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins second year had prepared beforehand. The Ravenclaw witch then cleared her hands as best as she could.

"I come back in a second." The green-eyed witch said to her fellow Ravenclaw, before marching to the other side of the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was cutting a dangerous plant called the Venomous Tentacula. Inwardly, Alexandra wondered why the Professor wanted to see her suddenly in the middle of the class. And with Draco Malfoy of all persons too? Curious.

"You wanted to see me Professor?" The Potter Heiress asked to the Head of House Hufflepuff, who was not far from a desk crowded by magical plants. The Herbology Professor's wand was emitting a calm violet light which appeared to put the plant next to her in a sort of magical sleep.

"Yes, Miss Potter." Said Professor Sprout in her usual jovial tone. "I did." The Herbology Professor added, just as Draco Malfoy arrived next to her. The Slytherin boy was red-faced and transpiring, as well as out of breath. His school robes were dirty, with a lot of earth everywhere and several scratches where small thorns had touched his wizard's clothes. It was as well the Slytherins were sharing their Herbology class with the Ravenclaw, because the second-years Gryffindors wouldn't have let passed such occasion to mock the dishevelled appearance of the blonde pure-blood.

 _And they are those who wonder why Herbology is the least preferred class of the Slytherins_ , thought Alexandra with amusement.

"Professor Snape wants to see both of you before the Great Hall at eleven o'clock for your family reunion. A Portkey made by Professor Dumbledore will transport to you to Black Cobra Manor and back when it will be over. You are dispensed of courses from the rest of the day."

"Err... Professor?" Asked Alexandra, not understanding the sense of what the Head of Hufflepuff had just uttered.

"I have not been invited to any family reunion. For that matter, most of my family is dead, so I doubt I will receive any invitation from them."

"Honestly, Potter." Drawled Malfoy in his usual arrogant and condescending tone. "The Professor is speaking about your ties with the Black family. Don't tell me you haven't received an invitation from Lady Cassiopeia Black!"

"As a matter of fact, no." Replied Alexandra, turning to send a glare at the Slytherin boy who took a step back when he saw her expression. "I have not received any invitation from anybody recently. Not from a Lady Black or from anyone else." She finished, focusing her vision back on the teacher and not on the blond idiot.

"Oh, dear me!" Sighed Professor Sprout, taking a contrite expression. "My mistake, Miss Potter. I was asked by Professor Dumbledore to give you this at your breakfast." The Head of Hufflepuff took a letter on the desk and behind her, holding it for Alexandra which took it with a cold "Thank you."

The twelve-year old girl heard Draco Malfoy sniggering on her right, but alas this time this sorry excuse for a Slytherin had reasons to. Alexandra had long suspected from last year the Headmaster had taken certain liberties by naming himself as her magical guardian. Accountant Grimjaw had detailed to her in various reports how Gringotts had suspected the Defeater of Grindelwald to destroy the various financial empires from Houses he was supposed to safeguard, dividing the spoils for his allies and supporters. These suspicions had not been based on anything solid, however. There was nothing which could accuse the venerated Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer and Chief Warlock from having done anything illegal.

But reading the mail of a student was not an action you could prosecute someone, if you were the magical guardian of the student in question. Alexandra raged internally, as she had been warned by Grimjaw the Headmaster had the magical knowledge and the political power to intercept her mail but until now she had not had an instance where it had happened. Now she had...and she wondered how many letters and correspondence had been seen first by a person she was still waiting her first meeting face-to-face, despite she asking Professor Flitwick to pass the remarks and message to the man. The letters with Atalanta and those sent by Gringotts were probably safe. Probably. She would have to send letters tomorrow to be sure of it, then warn Hermione, Nigel and Morag to take precautions with any mail they sent her during the holidays.

"Well, you have one hour to prepare yourself, Miss Potter, Mister Malfoy. I suggest you put to good use, take a shower and change into your best robes." Continued Professor Sprout, unaware of the storm in Alexandra's mind.

"Yes, Professor." Both the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw answered, before leaving the greenhouse.

Marching at a very fast rhythm towards the castle and trying to ignore the various insults thrown by Malfoy who was lagging behind, Alexandra opened the letter while she arrived in front of the marble stairs leading to the great doors of Hogwarts. In passing, she noticed the container and the parchment looked really similar in quality to the letters Gringotts sent. It was high-quality parchment, not the type she or anyone students used to copy their notes or even for writing their graded assignments. More in the category of marriage invitations, Ministry of Magic convocations or menus in very expensive restaurants.

The writing on it, unfortunately was exactly was Professor Spout said it was: an invitation from a certain Lady Cassiopeia Black to assist today at a 'familial meeting'. Climbing the stairs two by two, she read the location of the meeting where a formal lunch was about to take place, Black Cobra Manor. Really...weird. Why not Black Anaconda or Black Viper while they were at it? From the start, she knew betting a Slytherin had built said Manor was not worth losing her time. Apart from the two Black members Sirius and Leo Black, every member of this feared family had been sorted into Slytherin.

Entering the Ravenclaw Common Room after having solved the riddle, Alexandra ran to her room, still facing two difficulties. First, she had no clothes for the occasion. There were plenty of rumours at Hogwarts concerning the Black family. Half of them were horror stories. The rest were tales of their wealth, which was according to some of the pure-bloods Slytherin one of the most considerable in Magical Britain. One thing was sure, they were unlikely to see her arriving in T-shirt and jeans with a good eye. Okay, her arriving in clothes issued from the non-magical world would put them in a bad mood. Alas, with the invitation delivered to her on this very morning, buying what passed to be a wizarding formal attire was all but impossible. One of her nicest robes with her best cape, robe, gloves and boots would have to do.

The second issue was that she didn't know what the fuss was all about this meeting. Like this arrogant git named Draco Malfoy had remembered her, she had Black blood. What a big deal. Her grandmother on the paternal side, Dorea Potter nee Black, had indeed been part of this prestigious, dark and insane family. In fact, Dorea had also been the youngest sister of Cassiopeia Black. She had also only avoided being disowned by the slimmest of margin marrying Charlus, as House Potter had never been a family according importance or paying lip service to the purity of blood. All of this had been recorded in the archives of the Daily Prophet, proof that the marriage had made some really big waves. Alexandra wasn't anywhere in the position to claim the Lordship of the family though. Not only she didn't carry the Black name, the Ravenclaw witch was also a girl. And only a man could rule the Black family. Bigoted pure-bloods.

Alexandra took her shower in record time, put her new clothes on and left the Common Room with fifteen minutes left. She arrived before the access leading to the Great Hall with three minutes to spare, meeting only the mischievous Crookshanks pursuing a big rat on the third floor with an awesome determination. Only she wasn't the first to arrive at the meeting point. Professor Snape had been expected. Leo Black, given the sender of the invitation, was logical. The two other Gryffindors, Alexandra had to admit, she would not have figured they would be on the guests' list. Neville Longbottom, wonder of the Wizarding World and Boy-Who-Lived extraordinaire. The eldest of the Weasleys present at Hogwarts. Percy-something, Perceval, Percival, she honestly didn't remember the name of the boy. All she knew this Weasley was in sixth year, Gryffindor Prefect and a sticker for rules. Oh, and the nicknames every House found for him were really humiliating. A little consequence of his irritating tendency to stick for outdated rules and never relax.

The clothes being worn by every person in the Hall were interesting too. Black and Longbottom were wearing what looked to be formal robes with their Houses coat-of-arms over their hearts, and they were way more expensive than the usual robes. For one thing, they were made in a sort of elegant silk or something like that, and there were embroidery of gold and silver decorating the clothes. The Weasley next to them wore only his normal Hogwarts robes, which looked to be old and frayed around the edges.

There was only one minute left before eleven o'clock, and it was clear there was only one person who had had the bad taste not to be punctual. Unsurprisingly, it was Draco Malfoy. His French cousin Lyre had certainly not been invited, since the French branch of their House was not linked in Black activities on the other side of the Channel.

But to the astonishment of the Gryffindors and the lone Ravenclaw gathered in the Entrance Hall, Professor Snape was harbouring an expression of fury. Honestly, Alexandra couldn't see why. It was well-known in Hogwarts rumour mill that Draco Malfoy was often what could be called 'fashionably late' when he and the Gryffindors were at the same place at the same time and Professor Snape was in attendance. A manner Alexandra supposed was to boost the ego of the Slytherin Prince, all the while not risking a detention or a loss in House Points. Everybody knew Professor Snape very rarely punished Slytherins. Even caught red-handed.

"Very well," Said the Potions Master in this cold, silky voice which translated how much he was furious as the eleventh hour rang in Hogwarts Great Hall. "I will wait for the...delayed student." He added in a dark voice which promised something painful was going to happen to a certain blond Slytherin stupid enough to risk his ire.

"This is your Portkey." The black-haired man declared handing a rope shining of a weak blue light to the Weasley Prefect, before walking away with his black robes billowing like a herald of Sauron in search of Hobbits to terrify. The oldest Gryffindor unwound a bit the magical rope, before commanding in a pompous voice to the other students to approach and grab it solidly.

Alexandra obeyed, as did Neville Longbottom and Leo Black.

"3...2...1...Sorbet Lemon!"

Alexandra had not the time to reflect how stupid the situation looked. It was like something had grabbed her by the navel, the group began to swirl at an unimaginable speed, the Hall around them began to fade, and they were propelled forwards in a whirlwind of indistinct colours.

 **22 September 1992, Black Cobra Manor, England**

The landing was brutal and came without any warning. They had swirled so much in so short period a time that Alexandra couldn't help but stagger, and fall on her knees with a groan of pain. What the hell was the problem with the wizards? If she had known how bad travel by Portkey was, she would have insisted to do the travel by another method of transportation. Now on the ground, she had to fight the urge to vomit and her legs had the consistence of marmalade.

"First Portkey experience?" Asked the voice of the eldest Weasley above her in a sympathetic tone.

"Yurgh." Answered Alexandra. "Is it always that bad?" The young Ravenclaw asked, standing up difficulty on her own legs, still trying not to vomit in public.

"The first travel is always difficult." Admitted the Gryffindor. "After that, it gets better. Some persons still have some trouble with them however. Something in their magic fluctuates with the Arithmancy grid of the Portkey."

"Great." Said weakly Alexandra. "This is as bad as my first travel in the wagons of Gringotts."

The red-haired winced, before nodding vigorously. Glad to know she wasn't the only one having problems with the infernal devices manned by the goblins.

The earth having ceased to pitch and her vision having returned to its normal clarity, Alexandra observed the panorama around their group. To be honest, the ambiance was...dark. At the very least desolated. Alexandra didn't know where in the British Isles the Portkey had sent them, but it was a rather gloomy location. The sky was grey over their heads, the grass of the land was scorched and was black at some place. The trees looked diseased, in spite of being in late September, they had no leaves anymore. On some of them big crows were nesting, crowing loudly and permeating an atmosphere of horror movie.

But the masterwork was the manor itself. Standing in the middle of this dark land, the place was focusing the attention on it, like some headquarters for a Dark Lord or another evil wizard bent on conquering the world. The manor was four floors high, and the only way to access it was by a black paved alley bordered by statues of snakes. At the end of it, was a large black marble stair ending with two terrifying sculptures of black cobras barring their fangs. The rest of the mansion was made from black stone, with midnight-coloured towers, gargoyles and repugnant pictures making this place of the less engaging that she had ever seen. But there was worse. No matter its appearance, Alexandra had to look twice before finally realising she was observing a sort of...black aura seeping from the walls of the manor. The kind of thing she had seen with Devkins before fighting him. The oppressing presence which had manifested itself when the Salamander had emerged from a vault and proceeded to annihilate all resistance. What exactly was this place to emanate the same darkness?

Returning to the little matter of group, their number had severely diminished in the instant she had passed to observe the surroundings. Leo Black was walking towards the manor with a black-haired man who had absolutely the same hair and face. No doubt his father, Lord Sirius Black. The Boy-Who-Lived was a bit behind, marching towards the same destination but with a woman in a dark green robe and a stuffed vulture on her head. Almost certainly his grandmother. The only persons in the vicinity where the sixth-year Weasley and Alexandra were waiting were two persons with blond hairs, one of which she was already familiar with having met him at Flourish and Blotts. Lucius Malfoy. So the woman next to him, wearing silver robes which emphasized her seducing body and figure, was his wife, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. And the two were glaring at the Weasley teenager like if he was some dirty parasite they would like to crush with their shoes.

"Should we start to follow the two other members of our group?" Alexandra asked to the Gryffindor Prefect. The Black-Longbottom-both adults and children- had left them where they had arrived without a look behind.

"Professor Snape..."

"Said he would wait for the 'delayed student'." Who if the persons waiting here were any indication, had to consist in the arrogant and bullish being named Draco. "He never told us to wait for him."

Weasley opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat as another Portkey, this one an enchanted teacup, ejected two persons right in front of them from nowhere. The first was Professor Snape. The other was Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, well. No need to wait for our Professor." Alexandra said in a whisper.

The Head of Slytherin had not heard her remark, but clearly agreed to the spirit of it as he began to head to the manor with long strides after having made a sharp gesture in Weasley and Alexandra's direction to follow him.

The black cape and clothes of Professor Snape, dark and without ornament, were weirdly appropriate given the ambiance reigning in the area. Passing dozen of snake sculptures and climbing the black stairs, the group reached at last the black gates of the gloomy residence. The Malfoy adults and their spoilt child were a bit behind on the grounds.

"Severus Snape, Alexandra Potter and Percival Weasley." Told the Professor in a bored tone to one of the black, well...things decorating the main doors. "We are expected."

The figure, which looked like a hybrid between a demon, a gargoyle and a Minotaur, nodded once to acknowledge Snape's statement and the doors opened in a noise which was more of a shriek than a hiss.

The teacher entered as soon as enough space was created, and Percival and Alexandra penetrated in Black Cobra Manor too. It was...dark. Unlike Hogwarts, the entrance of the Black Cobra Manor was weakly illuminated, with only a few candles and torches providing light. As a result, all the persons arriving (which included the three Malfoys) took a few moments to adapt their eyes to the new conditions. When it was done, Alexandra had to admit she was not impressed at all.

After seeing the marvels offered by her school, she had hoped to see hundreds of painting with old and proud wizards and witches, perhaps architecture of the Renaissance-era, some armours from the medieval times, a silver chandelier or golden candelabras. Nothing of this sort was here. Instead, the Hall where they were standing was to be polite in a state of decay. They were cracks on every wall, and not the small fissures which came when the worker Vernon hired to redo the paint in the living room of Privet Drive did a half-baked job. The wall on the left directly to the door had one which ran from the ceiling to the ground. The walls were dirty, and there was nothing on them, though by the traces there had been some paintings on them once upon a time. There was a lot of dust and obvious signs of neglect. This place was giving a feeling of abandonment and isolation, like in some club rooms she had visited frequently thorough the corridors of Hogwarts. In some way, it made her sad, as she knew this place had in the past been bristling with life and now there was nothing left. An era had definitely passed.

"Look how deep they have fallen..." Whispered someone on her right.

Alexandra stopped glancing at the walls and reported her attention to the persons near her. That it was Draco Malfoy who had spoken should come to the surprise of no one, but Alexandra noticed his father was whispering angrily in his son's ear and it was clear the Lord had not enjoyed the outburst of his Heir. Draco's mother had been watching the manor's hall at the same time with a non-feigned sadness, and for a single second the perfect visage turned into something infinitely more dangerous and vicious. And then it was gone, like it had never existed, but a wince of pain from the Malfoy Heir translated the displeasure of someone having Black Blood in her veins.

Steps resonated not far away and an old man in grey-black robes descended from the black stairs. His face showing an expression of deep tiredness.

"Ah, Lady Malfoy, Lord Malfoy." The newcomer said once he reached the bottom of the stairs, bowing and kissing Lady Malfoy's hand. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, Lord Burke." Said the blonde wizard with a curtsy nod and a silky voice that was the epitome of courtesy.

 _Politician to the nails and toes_ , thought Alexandra.

"If only the Wizengamot shared your opinion." Chuckled the man. Narrowing his eyes and throwing a look towards the group as a whole, the man added in a far less cordial tone. "And I see everyone we were waiting for has arrived. All the young imps and Dumbledore's pet Death Eater."

Professor Snape, who was on the left, winced and took a face one might describe as particularly murderous, but except a tightening of his face, nothing more happened.

"Come." Said Burke. "She awaits us." The words seem more to address to Malfoy than Snape. The three adults and three children mounted the stairs, following Burke. After about fifty stair-steps, they abandoned the climb and engaged in a corridor, which was as decrepit as the entrance hall or the stairs, bearing fissures and large cracks. There was also a nasty odour in the air, a bit similar to the one the mountain troll she had killed had smelled inside Hogwarts.

Finally they reached an opened door.

"The imps will wait here until we have finished." Said Burke in a voice which sounded a bit too satisfied for Alexandra's taste.

None of the Hogwarts students had any choice in the matter, apparently. After a nod of approval from Professor Snape, they had to pass the door and enter what looked to be a small dining room, with two small tables and the glasses, plates and implements for a formal dinner. The floor and the walls were as empty as the rest of the residence. Behind them, the door closed and was locked in a noise which was sinister, much like everything she had seen since their arrival.

They were not the first to arrive, that much was evident. Neville Longbottom, Golden Boy of Gryffindor and Boy-Who-Lived, was sitting at one of the chairs surrounding the right table. If Alexandra didn't know better, she would have sworn the boy was sulking. It was not hard to guess why. There was no sign of Leo Black. Evidently being the Black Heir dispensed you from being classed with the other non-adults.

At the other table, sat three boys, who had all black-hair and looked to be enough tall and large to be fourth or fifth-years at Hogwarts. Alexandra had never seen them at school though, but the black hair and the features left little doubt these teenagers had a familial relationship or another with the Black and Burke families. Leaning on the opposite wall between the two tables, was a girl wearing a red-coloured uniform with fur. She looked completely bored and was the complete opposite of the other boys. The unknown girl had the height of a third-year, but was way more athletic and muscled than anyone Alexandra had seen at Hogwarts, save the Quidditch players. Brown haired, black eyes. An impression of solidity and confidence emanated from her, and she was sometimes taking a quick look at the table Draco Malfoy had sat upon, showing a disgusted look.

The sides were not long in being decided. Draco Malfoy-whose second name was not 'subtlety'- rushed to the table where the three other 'Black-Burke boys' were sitting, and an animated discussion began. 'Blood traitors', 'purity of the blood' and 'inheritance' were repeating a lot. Percival Weasley chose to sit on a chair next to Longbottom, although the red-haired boy remained curiously silent.

Personally, Alexandra did not intend to be drawn in the conflicts with these families, and so chose to lean on the left wall, at mid-way between the Malfoy and Longbottom table. Draco Malfoy, too predictable for his own good, took this opportunity to sneer at her, and the three other boys followed suit. No need to ask if they believed in blood-purity then.

Minutes passed, and soon even the conversation between the Malfoy second-year and his 'cousins' ended, leaving an uneasy silence. Alexandra casted a quick Tempus to know the hour, and to her stupefaction there was only two minutes before noon. They had just stayed about half an hour in that room! Alexandra had never been invited to a formal 'familial meeting' before so she didn't know the norm, but as far as she was concerned, the Black family ones were really underwhelming.

Far away, a clock stroke midday, the twelve massive strikes shaking magically the whole manor. The only thing noticeable which happened in their current location was that the door they had come smoked of the same aura of darkness Alexandra had seen on the exterior of the manor.

A quarter of an hour passed, and sure enough, the first grumblings from Draco Malfoy were heard "Wait until my father hears of this..." The rest of his table members looked exasperated.

 _At least you don't have to cope with him all the school year_ , thought Alexandra.

Suddenly, the plates and the glasses shone of a silver light, before filling themselves from a lot of food and drinks.

"Finally!" Exclaimed one of the large black-haired boys who was directly right to Draco Malfoy. "Thought we weren't going to eat at all in this cursed place!"

Alexandra smiled an instant at this Gryffindor-like exuberance and prepared to join the almost unoccupied her eyes, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. Yes, the adults had decided to feed them... but with what exactly? Given the gloomy atmosphere and the dark ambiance encountered, not to mention the remark of the Burke wizard earlier, they was no guarantee the food hadn't been cursed. Indeed, given the rumours spread about the Black family, she felt prudent to not touch anything, in spite, or rather because, not sensing anything suspicious near the plates. Alexandra continued to lean against the wall, and the red-robed girl had not moved in the slightest too.

The rest of the teenagers and children present did not share her view on the situation. Longbottom, Weasley, Draco Malfoy, the other three Black-featured boys were eating, devouring and swallowing the food at an incredible speed.

"By pure curiosity, Edmund." Talked the black-haired girl with a bored expression." How does the food taste like?"

One of the boys at Malfoy's table guffawed, and took another part of meat, swallowed it before answering "Why? Some regrets Astrid?"

The black eyes of the girl named Astrid scintillated something evil and malevolent.

"Oh, no Edmund. You! What is your name?" The red-robed girl asked Alexandra.

"Alexandra Potter."

"Hah. I see." Said Astrid in a languish voice, like she was about to reveal something absolutely astonishing. "Do you want to explain those idiots why eating was a very bad idea?"

"Because we're in a House owned by a Black?" Tried the black-haired Ravenclaw.

"That's a reason." The red-uniformed witch bared her teeth like a tiger about to pounce on her prey. Then she walked towards the table and smelled the plates, before delivering a few malicious sentences. "All the meals are smelling cinnamon, orange and lemon. Potions lesson for dumb wizards: it is one of the basic methods to hide the presence of most low-levels poisons."

The five teenagers and children seated stopped eating with the synchronicity of a single individual. Percival Weasley threw up what he was eating. Neville Longbottom was looking at the bean on his fork with an expression of horror.

"Exactly. I see at least one person had the intelligence not to eat. As for the rest..." The black glaze of the girl was not really warm. "They deserve exactly what's going to happen to them."

The boy named Edmund wasn't listening anymore. The moron screamed "WE HAVE BEEN POISONED!" and ran to the door, seizing the handle and trying to open it. There was a flash of red light, and the boy fell to the floor unconscious, struck down by the magical trap.

"EDMUND!" Shouted the two other boys, running towards their relative.

"NO!" Shouted Neville Longbottom."DON'T..."

The body of Edmund was still in contact with the door, and when the two boys tried to drag him away from it, they received the same treatment. Red light flash. Falling on the floor unconscious.

"Imbeciles." The word was pronounced by the other girl with a venom Alexandra was truly scared of. "You English wizards are really disgraces to the magic."

"But...the poison?" Stuttered Draco, whose face was as livid as one of the ghosts. "We need to call Professor Snape! He has always antidotes on him..."

"Shut up, Malfoy." Snarled Longbottom. "They're simply saying lying to make you panic! There's no way they will poison me, I am the Boy-Who-Lived, killing me would be...oh..."

The Gryffindor had not the opportunity to finish his sentence, lowering his head and vomiting in the plate he was just eating from instants ago. Next to him, Percival Weasley emitted a fart so powerful his robe rose and a disgusting sound signalled...that something disgusting had happened. Then he vomited too. More fats and noises of vomiting resonated, as Draco Malfoy and the three unconscious boys joined this nauseating spectacle. The face of the blonde pure-bloods was now green with boils and all the boys were busy spitting out everything they had eaten since the start of the day.

"I have seen enough."Alexandra said, struggling against the odour and the need to vomit. Whoever had put the potions in the meals, murder had not been in his or her mind. More like providing an awful humiliation. "Let's get out of here."

Frankly, she had had enough of this dark place. No one to greet them at the arrival, a manor which was one step away from demolition, and now a lunch spiked with semi-awful potions? There were more productive ways to pass the time. Homework. Flying. Reading. Chatting with her friends.

"And how do you think you will get out?" Said Astrid in a teasing tone. "The door is warded and cursed. I doubt you have the skills in Runes to unlock it."

"We are witches." Answered Alexandra, drawing her wand from her holster and paying no attention whatsoever at Draco Malfoy rolling in his own vomit in pain. "Superior to the boys in every way which matters."

"Errr... sure." Replied the other girl, obviously not seeing where she was going.

"BOMBARDA!" Alexandra casted against one section of the wall, close to the door. Her spell struck the wood and the resulting explosion scattered a lot of splinters and fragments, with smoke darkening her view. Twenty seconds after, the smoke had dispersed enough to see the hole she had just made.

"If we have no exit, we create another." Alexandra declared, crossing the hole and emerging in the corridor.

"Impressive." Said Astrid. Her expression was less condescending and more on the 'impressed' level, as she passed the gap just created. "I was not aware Hogwarts told the Bombardment spell to second-years. Are you often doing the same thing at Hogwarts?"

"Only with persons who try to kill me." Answered Alexandra, rolling her eyes all the way. Her interlocutor chuckled.

"Pleased to meet you." The red-robed girl said, tending her hand. "I'm Astrid Sverre, of the Sword and Ice House of Sverre."

"Sverre...isn't it Norwegian royalty?" Asked Alexandra, shaking the hand firmly and realising by the iron grip the muscles of the girl weren't for show. Moreover, the slight feeling of discomfort didn't decrease. The eyes of Astrid were scrutinising her on every angle, to the point it was discomforting.

"Indeed it is." Said Astrid in a pleased tone that didn't reach her facial muscles. "The time my ancestors reigned over Norway was a few hundred years ago, but we have still the better royal claim of all the Norwegian Houses. And the wealth too." She admitted, though she didn't look bothered by it.

"Not to sound overtly curious, but..."

"What I am doing here? My great-grandmother was Charis Black, who married Caspar Crouch. One of her daughters, my grandmother Elladora Crouch, married a Norwegian wizard named Valdemar Sverre. They had two children, Ulrik and Dagmar. Dagmar never married, but I am Ulrik's eldest daughter out of five children."

"Okay." Said Alexandra slowly. Seriously, she would have to make a genealogic tree if she wanted to understand the situation clearly. "And the three imbeciles who got demolished by the door?"

"Demolished." Laughed Astrid in a sound that was joyous and freezing at the same time. "Not a bad description at all." Trying to regain a more serious expression and failing, the brown-haired girl explained. "The boys are Edmund, Arnold and Matthew Burke. They are cousins, the last descendants of the union between Herbert Burke and Belvina Black. I heard the family got a lot of financial troubles in Britain in the last years."

"They seemed to know you pretty well." Commented Alexandra.

"Not really." Astrid contradicted her. "But they tried to enter Durmstrang the same year I did, I met them at this occasion. They failed by a catastrophic margin, and I only saw them once again at the burial of Lord Arcturus Black one year ago."

So the furred red-robes looking like an army uniform were in fact the standard robes of the Durmstrang Institute. There were a lot of rumours at school spread by the Gryffindors and the Slytherins concerning this school, and most of them were outright terrifying.

"Strange." Before Astrid inquisitive expression, Alexandra rolled her shoulders. "I had not seen them at Hogwarts, so I wondered what school they were going to."

As Astrid began to walk towards the other end of the corridor, the Norwegian girl started to speak again. "I think honestly they are Squibs or near-Squibs. I've not seen any of them having wands, and they are nowhere in any European school's enlistment."

"That would explain it." Conceded Alexandra as they began to climb another stair, this one as derelict as the first. "But what are they doing here? The Black family is infamous for having disowned all the Squibs of their House thorough history!"

"The answer to that, I'm afraid," Said Astrid in a cold-meditative tone when they reached the top of the stairs and entered another corridor, "is the same reason why we're here. Normally, they don't bother inviting a foreigner and a half-blood, especially ones who don't carry the Black name." Pausing a moment in silence as they reached an imposing bronze door carved with runes and snakes, Astrid then asked, "Do we knock?"

"It would be preferable." Said Alexandra. "This door looks incredibly warded."

"Hmmm...you're right." Said the Norwegian girl. "Any other questions?" Astrid said as she knocked on the door.

"Did Malfoy try to enter Durmstrang?" Asked Alexandra, honestly curious about it.

"Ah...no." A large smirk was seen on Astrid's face. "There are some who affirmed his father wanted to, but his mother intervened and he went to Hogwarts. At least, that's the rumour. What I know is that no one from the Malfoy family ever tried to enter Durmstrang in the last decades. Father and son went to Hogwarts of course."

And on this remark, the doors opened, revealing dozen of wizards and witches sitting in comfortable chairs all over the room, watching and studying them in silence. Sure enough, the silence didn't last.

"Miss Potter," drawled Professor Snape. "I would have expected you of all the students I brought here to understand the directives which were given to you. Return immediately back to your room and wait for us to call you back."

"With all the respect I have for you, Professor" Alexandra replied, marching into the room. "I'm afraid I must decline." She knew she was taking a risk, but Snape wasn't one of her Professors this year unlike the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. "Seeing the Heirs of the Malfoy and Longbottom families vomiting is distracting for a few minutes, but the odour was a bit nauseating."

"Yes," Agreed Astrid, walking next to her. "And seeing the Burkes being struck down by a door is no fun once they're all unconscious."

By the shock on everyone's face, it was evident no one had seen that coming. Like in a movie, the two girls saw the adults' brain turning at full speed and then at once half of the room screamed: "CASSIOPEIA!"

An old woman, who had been formerly hidden in their seat by all the other witches and wizards, was now cackling madly.

People rose from their seats and shouted, but the witch was still sporting a very nasty smile. Looking at her, black-haired and black eyes, no one could doubt she was a Black. This was not her most striking features, however. Her body was skeletal, like she had eaten nothing for a few months, and there were a lot of nasty scars visible despite the fact her black robes hid virtually everything save her head and her hands. Oh, and the darkness she had felt in the residence was like a halo of night around her.

"Enough!" Barked the woman who could be none other than Lady Cassiopeia Black.

"You wanted me to test your brats, you assured me they were worthy!" Cassiopeia Black threw an ironic glance at Sirius and Leo Black on her right. Apparently, the man had declined to "test" his son like the others. "Well I have tested them. And the two before you are all what's left. You names ladies."

"Heiress Astrid Sverre, of the Sword and Ice House of Sverre. Please to meet you Lady Cassiopeia Black."

There were plenty of whispers which echoed angrily in the hall, but Cassiopeia raised her hand, and the silence came back.

"Heiress Alexandra Potter, of the Most Ancient House of Potter. I should say I am pleased to meet you, but I've never felt like debiting lies."

The whispers this time were perfectly audible, with some bordering in groans and accusations in middle tones.

"You have Dorea's spirit, I will give you that, girl." Cassiopeia looked almost amused. "But you should learn to respect your betters."

"You are not my better." Affirmed Alexandra, unleashing a series of gasps and shouts in the room. "You literally reek Dark Magic and you look like at Death's door. Tell me Great-Aunt. How many days have you still to live?"

Alexandra had expected the dark witch to get angry. The whole room had become as silent as a cemetery, as if no one had the courage to approve or deny her words. Lady Cassiopeia Black burst in laughter.

"Ahhh... it has been a long time no one has dared tell me the truth." Laughed the woman. The echoes of smiles laughs echoed again in the room. " For that reason only, I will let you live." The movement of humours died on the spot.

Alexandra looked again at the old woman, who did not look like she was joking. Still, she doubted the woman would give her much trouble if it came to a fight. The cushions, footboard and the proximity of the chairs around the Black witch suggested she was not able to walk, and Professor Flitwick had always insisted your physical health was supremely important when it came to duels. Lady Cassiopeia may be more powerful than Devkins, but if she tried to fight, the combat was going to be short and one-sided.

"Now, leave this house, young ladies." Ordered Cassiopeia. "And try not to repeat the mistakes of your ancestors."

Astrid and Alexandra curtsied, before leaving rapidly, the noise of their steps being drowned by the torrent of insults, shouts and insults being uttered behind them.

"We made enemies today, I think." Remarked the Norwegian girl once they were outside.

"It was not like we had a lot of choice." Replied Alexandra. "And if I must have allies, I do not want House Black to figure in it."

It was the perfect truth, nothing more. In the two or three minutes they had spent in this meeting room, the spectacle of the participants she had watched had been disheartening. Barring Leo Black, who as the Black heir had been awarded a place here, the youngest persons present had been Sirius Black and the Malfoy couple. Otherwise, all the others witches and wizards had the traces of the time's ravages on their faces and bodies. By her estimates, she doubted a single one of them was less than sixty years old and all (again save the Malfoys) looked to suffer from the effects of inbreeding. Not surprising when you knew of the Black tendency to marry between cousins but still. The real issues were far graver. At least a quarter of those present had the dirty presence which Alexandra translated to a practitioner of dark magic and of the children she had seen today, Percival Weasley was the one who had been the most sympathetic besides Astrid. And the Norwegian witch studying at the Durmstrang Institute was a foreigner, and so not concerned by the struggles of the British Wizengamot.

Frankly, it was very likely there had not been any chances to make allies in this dark and dreadful place.

"Will I see you when the Will of Lady Cassiopeia will be read?" Alexandra demanded the Sverre Heiress.

"Afraid not."Said the Durmstrang witch with a negative nod. "The High Master is not giving many authorisations to leave the school, and the meeting of today was honestly a waste of time. My parents will send a lawyer, that's what they are for after all."

"So it will be a while before we see each other again."

"Years I think." The Norwegian girl did not seem bothered by it. "Until then try to stay alive, Alexandra Potter. Life is definitely not boring when you're around."

Astrid Sverre got out a Portkey out of one her robes' pocket. A blue flash, and the Norwegian wasn't here anymore.

"You haven't been the first to say this, you know..." Alexandra whispered alone in the wind flowing in these desolated parts of the British Isles.

 **22 September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The dinner at Hogwarts had been over for a good hour when Severus Snape entered the Headmaster's office, his black robes billowing and in absolutely massacring mood. Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who had been busy dealing with a mountain of paperwork of incredible proportions, rose his head when his Senior Potions Professor stormed in his office and fell on the first seat available.

"Ah, Severus. I was beginning to worry."Said the man many in Britain venerated more than Merlin. "Did your day at Black Cobra Manor was fructuous?"

"No." The answer was simple and direct, but Dumbledore knew the younger man very well. There was something dark in Snape's eyes, his fists were tightening and his jaw was pulsing. For a normal wizard, it would have been worrying, but Severus Snape was an Occlumency user. That he didn't manage to hide his anger and frustration meant something very bad had happened.

"How bad was it?" The man having defeated Gellert Grindelwald asked, caressing his silver beard.

"It could difficultly be worse." Sighed Snape. "To sum up the situation, Albus, this bitch of Cassiopeia Black invited us to see us fight each other, figuratively and literally. When it was over, she had pretty much managed to plunge House Black in a five-side civil war. I doubt most of them will want to speak with each other for the next decade."

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes, calculating the potential losses for a moment.

"I suppose Lucius Malfoy is going to lead one." He said, reopening his eyes, and rubbing with his handkerchief his glasses.

"Yes."

"Has Sirius any possibility to save the situation?"

The question was not provocative, but the visage of Severus Snape let for a moment show a terrifying hate. Not anger. Not loathing. Raw, pure hate. Then the feelings disappeared on the livid face of the last Prince descendent, kept again under enchanted chains.

"No, Albus. Lord Black," the irony in his voice could not have been more biting thought Dumbledore," has behaved himself like a true Gryffindor all day and he has managed to alienate pretty much his whole family. The only thing all the factions agree is that they hate him, Albus. More than they hate each other, I think. By the end of the day, I think they were more exasperated than me by his comments of 'Snivellus' than me."

"That doesn't explain why you sent back Miss Potter alone at three in the afternoon, doesn't it?"

"Miss Potter, Albus," said Severus Snape with part of exasperation, part of ...pride? "Was intelligent enough to be on her guard once we entered Black Cobra Manor and not eat any poisoned food. Unlike the others."

Albus Dumbledore for a moment didn't realise the meaning of these words. Then he did, and rage began to fuel his old heart.

"She dared POISONED the Boy-Who-Lived?" The Headmaster roared, waking up many portraits of former Headmasters present in the office.

Snape nodded, his visage presenting something like...approval?

"We left all the students in a small dining room while we discussed Albus. Of course, we locked the door, and we didn't leave anyone to mount guard, so nobody realised the door had been thoroughly cursed from inside to stun anyone trying to touch it once it was closed. After that, this madwoman sent them a lunch laced with Vomiting Potions, Retching Potions, Diarrhoea Potions and Boil Potions. From what I understand, nearly all the children ate the food without any wondering if there was a trap." Snape's sneer proved how much he valued this sort of behaviour. "The three Burke children were stunned when they tried to open the door in order to seek help."

"I suppose it was pandemonium when Lady Cassiopeia Black informed you." Albus said in a calmer tone. While each of these potions had humiliating and smelly effects, even combined the consequences were not THAT bad. Neville Longbottom and all the 'victims' of Lady Black's back humour were no doubt already healed and tomorrow would present no symptom anymore.

"It was not her, Albus." Informed him the Potions Professor in a voice mixing tiredness and resignation. "Astrid Sverre and Alexandra Potter had not touched the food, and one of the two blasted her way through the wall with a powerful Bombarda. Imagine our surprise when these two young witches came into our meeting room and told us what had happened." Snape expression turned to one of amusement. "Never had I seen before Narcissa and Lucius ready to murder someone on the spot."

"Mhhh..."Reflected the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "Who do you think casted the spell?"

"Potter, no doubt." Albus raised an eyebrow, at his agent's affirmation. "It is in line with the spells she showed last year in her classes Albus, and she practically insulted Cassiopeia in front of anyone. She said and I quote "you reek dark magic" to her."

Albus laughed, and Fawkes accompanied it on his perch.

"I suppose Cassiopeia didn't take it too well."

"I'm not sure, honestly." Said Severus, looking for the time a bit uncertain. "In the short conversation they had, Black compared Potter to her grandmother Dorea. And once Sverre and Potter left, she continued to make several times the comparison."

"Mhhh...very well. Nothing we can do now anyway." Snape nodded unhappily. Albus and Severus had never been invited into these circles before the war against Voldemort, so their sources on that period were definitely limited. Dorea Potter nee Black was long dead, most of her generation was dead too, and Lady Cassiopeia Black was not going to last more than one more month. At best. "Back to the main objective. Do you know who is going to receive the Black Files upon her death?"

Snape exhaled a long breath. What he was about to say wasn't going to be pleasant at all for his master.

"Yes, Albus. If the meeting I have assisted today is any indication, Narcissa Malfoy is the prime candidate to receive the Black Files."

"Who are the others?"

"Astrid Sverre and Alexandra Potter."

Albus Dumbledore grimaced. Of the three, the first two were completely unsuitable for his plans and the third's only value resided in his magical guardianship of her. Still, if he could take advantage of this...

"Don't dream, Albus." Said Snape in a tired tone. "I'm sure Lady Cassiopeia is aware of your position on the files and the guardianship of the Potter Heiress. She is not going to let you grab the Files like that."

"I could always pass a Wizengamot vote before her will was read, declare it invalid and seize her material possessions." Said Dumbledore in a tone Severus Snape had recognised over the years as one where the man revealed his true persona of the ruthless politician who violated three major laws before breakfast.

"It will not work." Said the former Death Eater now turned double-or was it triple?-agent. "I'm certain all the fortune of Lady Black is already inside her vault of Gringotts and her will has been read, signed and copied in several locations outside your reach. Black Cobra Manor was completely empty, Albus, and for one I doubt this woman was as ruined as she pretended in front of us. The goblins are guarding her fortune and the Files, and I'm afraid they will not surrender them just because you ask nicely."

"Damned woman." The voice of Dumbledore was more regretful than truly surprised, though in the privacy of his mind the Chief Warlock briefly contemplated half a dozen plans to extract the Files from the goblins' paw. Alas, each strategy, if discovered, would result in a bloody Goblin Rebellion. One the humans weren't going to triumph easily, given the calibre of the pawns Albus had been forced to coerce at the very top of the Ministry. "We can always put her will and her vaults into stasis for a few years. Many Houses and Ministry officials will support us if we let them know the Malfoy family stands to gain the Black Files."

Albus knew inside of him it was far from a perfect option. In fact it was a bad option, because whoever gained the control of the Black Files in the Will would have no compunction to use them against his interests at the Wizengamot and elsewhere once the stasis was broken. Unfortunately, it was still the best choice of all the available ones. If he let Narcissa Malfoy gain the access of about seventy years of political, economic and military dirt, he might very well retire today. Despite Lord Lucius Malfoy's boasts over the last decade, Albus Dumbledore had long guessed it was his formidable spouse who accomplished the fantastic amount of work in the shadows necessary to make the Dark Houses the power block they were today. Giving House Malfoy one more advantage in the political arena would be too dangerous. Especially in the current climate and the laws he wanted to pass in the next months.

"It will enrage many of those who were present today." Warned Snape. "Burke and a few others see this Will as their chances to take their rightful place at the Wizengamot."

Albus smiled. One more reason then to act. House Burke and the other descendants of the Blacks were anything but his allies or his supporters. Bankrupting them again would be the best way to make them understand who was at the top of the food chain in Magical Britain.

"At least try to discuss it with Lily's daughter. Draco babbled she was none too happy to discover you intercepted her invitation." Pleaded Snape. "She has the potential to be a formidable witch like her mother and..."

Albus toned down the rest of the conversation. To say the truth, he had been disappointed one family member of the traitorous James Potter has survived, though the girl has some utility as he could use her vote at the Wizengamot to support his interests. If she began to be embarrassing when she approached fifteen, well, they were always unfortunate accidents and he would put his hands on the Potter fortune left in the vaults in the vaults of Gringotts. Severus Snape having finished his tirade, the Headmaster told "I will think about it" before coming back to the subject which was by far the most important of all.

"Are you confident young Neville and Leo have been sufficiently angered by Lady Cassiopeia's games?" This was after all the sole reason he had accepted for children to leave Hogwarts during a week of class.

"You don't have to worry about that, Albus. They passed the entire period after they were healed and before we returned to Hogwarts ranting how Cassiopeia was 'mad' and 'dark' to them. They will not return to Black Cobra Manor on their own."

"Good." Smiled Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. "Very good."


	27. Problems start here

**Chapter 27**

 **Problems start here**

 **26th September 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"And you said to her 'you reek dark magic!'?"

"Shall I repeat one more time and scream for all Hogwarts to hear?" Asked Alexandra in a sarcastic tone.

Right now, she, Morag, Hermione and Nigel were gathered in an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, far from any of the usual agitation made by the troublesome students Hogwarts. If the dusty banners fixed magically to the walls and the blackboard were any indication, this place had been once the gathering place of the "Tutshill Tornados Fan-Club". They were a lot of old photos with wizards and witches flying in sky blue robes and double-T on the chest and obsolete Quidditch gear in the room, but it was clear no one had entered this place in the last decade before the group composed of two Gryffindors and two Ravenclaws.

Initially, being here had been a means to find some tranquillity in order to finish their homework of the week, which had been particularly consequent in Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. The assignment given by Professor Whitehead on the Hearing Boost Potion Wednesday in particular had to be thirty inches long, and Alexandra was barely at the middle of the imposed length this morning. So far, Hermione had been the only one to finish this nasty homework which goal was undoubtedly to deter you from pronouncing 'ear' and 'potion' in the same sentence.

Unfortunately for Hermione and the rest of Gryffindor class, Professor Snape had given them two others essays to write for next Friday. Leo Black sending the skin of a Horned Cobra into Crabbe's cauldron had perhaps something to do with it. Hermione was dealing with this pile of homework with delight, but poor Nigel was literally crumbling under the assignments, and Alexandra had had to help him finish his third paragraph concerning the dissection of a Horned Cobra. Given that the month of September was not yet over, this avalanche of studying promised nothing good for the rest of the year.

But since a few minutes in this studying session, the conversation thanks to Morag was less about Potions and Transfiguration, and more about her memorable day at Black Cobra Manor.

"Sorry. But you have to admit it's bloody funny!" Laughed Morag.

"Language!"Protested Hermione. "And I don't see what is so funny anyway."

"Alexandra insulted in her own home one of the worst Dark Witches of Britain." Clarified Morag. "No one in the Ministry dared to do it, ever. My parents told me how frightened they were by her. Merlin's pants everyone feared her! Cassiopeia Black is renowned to be one of the worst practitioners of dark magic on the British Isles. The Death Eaters fled when she was in the vicinity in the last war!"

"Well I'm so glad you found it funny... because passing three or four hours in her manor was an unpleasant experience I don't wish to repeat." Affirmed Alexandra.

The whole event had not been as bad as what happened at Brise-Roc, but that left plenty of bad between. "But I've never read in any history book mentioning Lady Cassiopeia Black participated in any battle in the last conflict." The black-haired witch remarked.

"Neither did I." Added Hermione, who was the group's expert in the subject of 'official' History.

"Oh, she was Neutral in the war against You-Know-Who." Affirmed Morag. "It was in the war before this she earned her reputation."

Given that there had only been one major magical conflict ravaging Europe after the 1900s, it was not hard to guess which.

"Grindelwald?" Demanded Alexandra more for confirmation than anything else.

"Yes," said Nigel, raising his head from his Potions essay which progressed at a slug's pace. "Lady Cassiopeia was famous for being one of the rare witches and wizards to go on the continent fight the Dark Lord Grindelwald. My father always told me she became for a lot of people the symbol of using dark magic to fight dark magic. Her personal body count was rumoured to be near the triple digits when the war ended."

"Charming." Said Alexandra, thinking exactly the opposite.

 _Thank the Valar and whatever divinities exist in this world she was almost dying. At the peak of her power, this Black madwoman would have likely poisoned everyone and everything when we entered her manor..._

"I don't understand." Admitted Hermione in a puzzled tone. "Why would a...Dark Witch fight against a Dark Wizard?"

"Oh, that's easy to explain." Told Morag, shaking her head in a move which made her red-hair reflect the weak sun of the Saturday afternoon. "The Blacks have always been big supporters of the Purist or the Conservative factions when they sat at the Wizengamot. Grindelwald, on the other hand, wanted to establish a Wizarding Empire where Muggles would be enslaved, but the wizarding social order was supposed to be a meritocracy. Of course, a meritocracy for Dark Wizards but a meritocracy of sorts."

"You mean..." Said Hermione in a horrified tone, "she fought against Grindelwald because he would have forced her to consider Half-Bloods and Muggleborns her equals?"

"I think Grindelwald was planning to go a bit further than that, Hermione." As the bushy-haired Gryffindor turned her head in her direction, Alexandra added "Grindelwald was one of the worst Dark Lords. Ever. The man imperiused Nazi leaders like Hitler and Himmler, ravaged Europe with his Inferius hordes and unleashed countless calamities on magical and non-magical populations. He had the blood of millions people on his hands. If this psychopath had attacked Magical Britain, House Black would have been among the firsts targets to be exterminated. You can describe Lady Black's actions as...self-preservation, shall we say?"

"Well, I don't think that makes her a good person." Huffed Hermione. "And it was still Professor Dumbledore who vanquished Grindelwald!"

Alexandra and Morag exchanged looks that by the expression on their respective faces were thinking the very same thing. Everybody respected the Headmaster of Hogwarts to have brought down the most dangerous wizard conqueror of the twentieth century, yes. But people forgot very easily Albus Dumbledore sole and only act in said conflict had been this victory. During the nine years Grindelwald had launched his dark armies at the conquest of the world, Magical Britain, unlike their non-magical counterparts, had done their very best to imitate the species named ostriches and stay away from this conflict at all costs. If one had to make a comparison with Tolkien's works...well, Alexandra was unable to reveal one character to be put on the level of the 1940s British Ministry of Magic.

 _Grima Wormtongue, maybe?_

There had been a few exceptions to this bigot approach, of course. Witches and wizards like Cassiopeia Black, James MacDougal, Henry and Charlus Potter, had fought in this conflict, and been churned when they returned because their fellow magical citizens felt this conflict was not their problem. And after Dumbledore's rise to prominence, the rest of the surviving war veterans had been progressively erased from the updating history books, as was the mention that Grindelwald's 'Empire' was reduced to Berlin and its surroundings when Dumbledore decided to intervene. The old and new versions present in the Hogwarts Library had really little in common. Assuming you managed to find the former, because they were located in the section reserved to the breeding of magical slugs. Somehow Alexandra didn't believe it was a coincidence.

"One thing I didn't understand why Percival Weasley was here. He did not look like he was at ease to be invited..."

The Heiress of House MacDougal was apparently aware of this reason because the answer was immediate.

"He has the black blood flowing in his veins like you Alex."

Alexandra passed back the image of the Weasley in her mind with the other persons invited at Black Cobra Manor. The Potter Heiress didn't find a lot of common points. Apparently her doubts had showed on her visage because the red-haired Ravenclaw added shortly after:

"Yes, he didn't inherit the black hairs. But he and the rest of the Weasley family are descended from Cedrella Black, who was their grandmother."

"How in the name of the darkness armies did a Weasley manage to marry a Black?"

Alexandra's was really sincere. Before the shattering event which saw her 'supposed godfather' being Sirius Black sorted in Gryffindor, House Black had always been one of the informal Slytherin 'dynasties' of the Wizarding World. The Weasleys on the other hand were known for their staunch refusal to honour the ancestral customs and the pitiful state of their finances. That the latter were due to the high number of children they had at each generation was of no importance. The Weasleys and the Blacks had been at the extreme opposite of the social rankings in wizarding society for centuries. Thanks to the friendship between Leo Black and Ronald Weasley and the relative fall from grace of House Black in the 1980s, the two Houses were closer than ever now. It did not mean a marriage between these two worlds would not have been the equivalent of an earthquake in politics.

"The normal way. You know a man and a woman walked to the altar, say the vows..."

The two Gryffindors and the raven-haired girl rolled their eyes at the pure-blood Heiress. Who made a pout of disappointment before consenting to explain.

"Fine. Major scandal. Cedrella Black was formally expulsed from House Black mere hours after the marriage."

Then a lone whisper that Lavender Brown the Gossip Queen would have been hard-pressed to beat.

"There are interesting rumours Cedrella chose to marry the red-head because the alternative was a contract with a very repulsing Lestrange."

Silence came into the improvised studying room. Despite being all guests of the dark fortress named Azkaban, the Lestrange name still carried with him years of atrocities and slaughters.

Alexandra's most recent friend had not stopped searching for more enticing news.

"Has Lady Cassiopeia told who was going to have her fortune?"

"Morag. The woman was living in a manor dirty and ready to be demolished." The twelve-year old emitted a pompous smirk. "I was really surprised to not find any rats, by the way."

"Are you sure? There were rumours Lady Black made a fortune in blackmail and barely legal trade operations..."

Alexandra opened her hands in sign of ignorance.

"It's not like I've been named her confident...but thanks for the confirmation Lady Black is not a good person and never will be. Fortunately, she will soon be dead and we will all sleep better, me included." The green-eyed girl said in a pleased voice.

"It would be so much better however, if the Gryffindor-Slytherin war had not resumed thanks to her." Grumbled Nigel.

Both Ravenclaws and Hermione winced. The news of the humiliating 'poisoning' Lady Cassiopeia Black had engineered at Black Cobra Manor had been known to everyone in school by Thursday, and the result had not been pretty.

Whether the old woman had just wanted to play a nasty prank or no on unsuspecting children didn't matter. Neville Longbottom was the Heir Presumptive of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, and would become the Lord of his House as soon as he became of age. There was no higher level of nobility, and treating an invitee like this was literally spitting on most wizarding traditions.

Coming back to Hogwarts, the Boy-Who-Lived had stormed through the Gryffindor dorms and roused the anger of the Lions in a vibrant speech where "slimy snakes" and "Dark Wizards who love to poison people" were coming back a lot according to Hermione and Nigel. House Gryffindor had already been feeling lately their peer's pressure: the Slytherin Quidditch team was booking the pitch as many times as they could to exhibit the prowess of their new Nimbus 2001. This last incident had been the last straw to make the anger explosion unavoidable. That Draco Malfoy had been involved too in the mad Black's dark joke had never been taken into consideration.

On Friday morning, all the Slytherins eating calmly their breakfast had suddenly began to vomit, farting or covering themselves in boils and buttons. Some of the unluckiest ones had been recovered with a sort of yellow mucus which seemed impossible to remove magically. To make the prank more provocative, a large red banner was unrolled on a wall, asking if "House Slytherin enjoyed this meal worthy of House Black". If the eyes of the Slytherin students could have launched deadly spells at that moment, all the Gryffindors would have perished where they stood.

Too predictably, Draco Malfoy had led twenty-plus Slytherin the same evening on the seventh floor, and ambushed several first-years Gryffindors, bringing them down by surprise under a massive magical barrage. The issue was that their planning had been a little bit too hasty and unprepared, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas being not far from the site of attack and rushing to the rescue. At two against twenty, the affair should have been one sided, but there had been no Slytherin over third-year in the group, while Finnigan was famous for unleashing explosions from his wand. When the professors had arrived, Draco Malfoy and his accomplices were long since gone, with Finnigan and Thomas having to be brought down to the infirmary... but Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and five other first-years had been admitted to the Hospital Wing with quite severe burns and jinxes on their skins.

One should think that after such a fight in the corridors, a misdemeanour absolutely prohibited by Hogwarts own rules, the teaching staff would have shown a bit of eagerness in defusing the situation before things went too far. If one person thought like that, he was not an adult at Hogwarts, that was for sure. Neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Snape who had arrived first on the scene had showed the slightest interest in making an effective inquiry, and so Malfoy and company had escaped detention or House points loss.

The Gryffindors had rashly answer today morning, wanting to ambush the ambushers, but in reality hitting the first Slytherins who had the bad luck to be the first leaving their own Common Room with a sort of paint explosive, drowning Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey (as well as the rest of the Slytherin Common Room Entrance and a whole corridor) in gold and red paint. It was also magically resistant to general counter-spells, certainly a new trick of the Weasley Twins.

Since then, Hogwarts was the scene of a series of pranks and magical skirmishes between the Snakes and Lions, with each side trading blow for blow.

"Don't worry, Nigel. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will stop this war as soon as he becomes aware of it at dinner. Hopefully before someone has to be sent to Saint Mungo's Hospital or to the cemetery."

It was not like it was the first time it had happened since September 1991 after all. Alexandra turned to Hermione.

"I'm more worried about this whole business with Crookshanks. What the hell happened for Weasley to threaten you this morning, Hermione?"

The Gryffindor girl's visage took a murderous expression, so threatening Morag pushed back a bit the chair she was sitting on.

"This red-haired git accused Crookshanks to eat his rat!" Erupted Hermione. "And he had the gall to look devastated, while two minutes before he was complaining that it was useless, old, had no magical power and he hadn't feed it for two days! But no! One remark of this Creevey boy that he saw a ginger cat pursuing a rat, and Mister Ronald Weasley comes to accuse me! Minutes later, he wanted me to pay him a new rat!"

A meow interrupted her tirade, and a lightning of ginger fur jumped on Hermione's knees. Hermione's anger disappeared, and she proceeded to caress the purring feline. Alexandra, not wanting to unleash another episode, chose not to mention she had effectively seen Crookshanks pursuing a rat too when she left for Black Cobra Manor.

 _It's too bad for Weasley, but I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner. There are more than twenty cats in the castle..._

"Did Weasley have the right to bring a rat to Hogwarts?" Alexandra asked to Morag. "The rules in our first-year letter for Hogwarts concerning animals were pretty specific, I mean."

"For first-years sure." Affirmed the red-haired Ravenclaw. "But as long as the animal isn't dangerous to earn at least two X by the Ministry of Magic classifications and a teacher doesn't catch you with it, you can pretty much bring everything you want at Hogwarts. One of my uncles told me he had brought a falcon when he was a student here, and he never had any problems. A rat, unless he's diseased, is not dangerous enough to be forbidden."

 _Gandalf only knows if they make diseases checking before we come for a new year...oh, who I'm kidding, it's Hogwarts. Of course they aren't checking._

"That was what I was afraid of." Not that it was a surprise, in a school where you could come face-to-face with a dragon or a troll by mistake. "Do you think there's a chance Weasley will retaliate against Hermione?" Alexandra continued in a low tone.

"I don't know." Morag touched her lower lip in uncertainty. "Weasley is completely unpredictable."

"Is it one of those moments where putting someone under your House's protection is recommended?" Asked Alexandra after a moment of silence, punctuated only by Crookshanks meows.

"No, definitely not." Said Morag with a vigorous negative nod of her to underline her point. "First, Weasley really doesn't care about House's traditions, assuming he even bothered to learn about them, which I really doubt. Secondly, you are the last member of your House, you aren't a Gryffindor and Weasley is friend with the Boy-Who-Lived. Giving House's protection to Hermione and Nigel would perhaps work against some Slytherins. Not against their own Housemates, when you are at the other side of the castle most of the week."

"So our best chance lies with Ronald Weasley taking the peaceful approach. Formidable." Alexandra did not mask the irony in her voice.

"Perhaps not." Smiled Morag. "With the Slytherin and Gryffindor at each other's throat, one word or two to an older Slytherin could force Weasley to deal with more pressing problems. I don't think it will be pleasant but..."

But it wasn't like the two Gryffindors had a pleasant stay in the Lion's kingdom, finished Alexandra in her thoughts.

"Your conversation is really interesting," said Nigel in a begging tone, "but could one of you help me understand Snape's homework? Otherwise I'm going to stay here until Monday morning..."

"Sure, Nigel." Said Alexandra, carrying her chair to move it to the left of the auburn-haired Gryffindor boy. "Now, let's start again..."

 **5th October 1992, Gringotts Bank, London**

Every single goblin in every branch of Gringotts thorough the world, from the lowest clerk to the High King, knew that each fortress -pardon, bank- had a room where the most important clan heads could gather. Said room's location was a well-kept secret accessible only to those who participated in these meetings, was often several hundreds of feet below the level of the sea and protected by the best wards Gringotts could afford.

Right now, there was a session happening. And if one could have posed his ear against the door without being electrocuted, carbonised and having his corpse thrown to the dragons as a snack, the furious voices of the participants would have made clear the occasion was not to celebrate the huge profits of the past month.

"Please remind me, Clarok. Why are we tolerating this vermin known as humans, again?" Asked one of the nine goblins gathered in the room.

"They are good for the affairs?" Replied another who had more an appearance of a clerk, until one saw his hands scarred beyond redemption from the multitude of duels he had to fight in his career.

"I do not share your enthusiasm." Grumbled another muscled goblin. "This is the sixth Will in the last two years their cursed Ministry is ordering us to put in stasis."

The word "ordering" had been spoken with a non-negligible amount of bitterness and rage. Goblins, by their very nature, were a proud race, which preferred death to submission. Obeying to the Ministry of Magic edicts, especially when the wand-wielders routinely violated every treaty signed during the last century, was...not well received or tolerated.

"How much will the blockage on Lady Cassiopeia Black's vaults last?" Asked a goblin, wearing a very expensive suit at the end of the long table.

"That's a good question, isn't it?" Snarled a goblin who hadn't opened his mouth until then. "Given that the two main beneficiaries aren't of age yet, I expect it to take a while."

"Not any means to...accelerate the process?" Enquired the clerk-looking like goblin.

"How I am supposed to do so?" Complained the muscular goblin. "I am running the Will and Inheritance Office of Gringotts, not the bloody Ministry!"

"We are speaking about a million Galleons for each beneficiary and there are three of them, Kurtrak! Use your imagination!" Sneered the goblin directly facing the one who had previously spoken.

"My assistants and I have already examined plenty of possibilities," said the aforementioned Kurtrak. From under the table, the massive goblin took a large pile of parchment he posed on the meeting table. "The problem is that they aren't any good options," he continued in a somewhat calmer tone. "We all know it was the pile of excrements known as Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge who blocked the Will. As one is the bloody Chief Warlock and the other is the Minister of Magic, which closes pretty much all the solutions to pass by the Wizengamot and the other legal options.

I have taken the liberty to take contact with House Sverre's lawyers and barristers and they were not amused. Unfortunately, we all how bigoted the wizards of England are towards foreigners, any proceedings engaged are going to last years."

"And the Potter Heiress?" Asked the goblin with the expensive suit. "She is after all the other main beneficiary of the Will."

"The girl is not ready to fight against Albus Dumbledore, assuming she ever will." Grunted Kurtrak. "Moreover he's also her Headmaster and magical guardian. And I had a note of Senior Accountant Grimjaw last week the Heiress requested several procedures to ensure her mail is not intercepted by the Chief Warlock."

"That is...promising news." Said the clerk-type goblin.

"For Grimjaw, I assume." Said Kurtrak. "I know of several goblins who were considerably less happy at the idea of losing their jobs..."

Which meant, as all the goblins around the table very well knew, the goblins in question were also in the process of questioning their own mortality. For all the blood and casualties happening during a 'Goblin Rebellion', it was really nothing to the bloodshed unleashed at each economic crisis in the entrails of Gringotts.

 **14th October 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"And that, dear students, is how I managed to defeat the third werewolf who was treacherously trying to attack me from behind!" Pompously finished Gilderoy Lockhart in his usual grandiloquent tone.

There were very few applaud in the class to mark this presentation where arrogance and the gigantic ego of Lockhart had played a major role. Even Hermione, who had been Lockhart's chief supporter amongst the Gryffindor was progressively abandoning any enthusiasm she ever had concerning their Senior Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

After the disaster that had been the release of the Cornish Pixies, Lockhart had not dared bring another potential magical creature for any class, but it did not mean his hours had become curriculum-related. Instead, the blonde teacher was now asking for volunteers each Wednesday to come read his books in front of the class, or just mimicking dangerous creatures Lockhart was supposedly had vanquished in his various travels. There was no tactics sessions, no knowledge concerning dangerous creatures, not a minor hex or jinx to learn. Lockhart's travels, his exploits, his smile, his lilac robes, his appearance and of course, Lockhart favourite subject of discussion...himself, were all the authorised subjects of conversation.

After one month of this treatment, it went without saying most of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had abandoned any illusion they had left concerning the famous author. Now that it was October, any students were convinced the class was a waste of time, descending in the nullity even deeper than the now deceased Professor Quirell had gone. Alexandra in these occasions was profusely thanking in her mind Professor Flitwick to have given her a list of spells to learn. Her progress was slow, but she had managed to learn three useful offensive spells, the Disarming Charm Expelliarmus, the Throw-Out Charm Everte Statum and the Incarcerous Spell. The last one was really interesting, as it bound the target with ropes coming from nowhere. Expelliarmus was good on one-on-one duels, but it really sucked against multiple opponents. Hermione had discovered a modification of the spell in the library, but an incantation like Expelliarmus Tria, as seducing as the principle sounded in theory, was a dead weight in practise. The spell became awfully imprecise, and there was really no way to target one, let alone two or three opponents at the same time. Except counting on luck, of course, but Flitwick had taught her last year how a bad idea it was.

"Now I want another person to read Chapter 15 of _Break With a Banshee_. Volunteers, raise your hands!"

No Lion or Raven was stupid enough to do it, leaving Lockhart's with the burden to choose someone. His eyes were already fixed on Neville Longbottom when the bell signalling the end of the class rang. The Boy-Who-Lived breathed so loudly it was tantamount to an admission of relief, a fact which had apparently not escaped to their incompetent Defence Professor.

"I want five inches on the tactics I used to defend against the Werewolves in chapter 6 for next week!" Exclaimed the man who today had chosen to wear a robe silver-gold which was so embroidered with decorations it was indecent.

The twenty plus students of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor groaned in accord, and Nigel who had partnered with Alexandra whispered "Any idea where to begin?" as they passed the door.

"Not at all." The Potter Heiress replied once they were in the corridors. "But if there's one thing I've learnt with this Professor, it's that the content really doesn't matter. As long as you write with style, your mark will be at least an E."

"It would be good if the grade meant something." Nigel affirmed glumly. "First, Quirell and now Lockhart. If things continue like that, how are we going to pass the OWLS in Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Self-study, I suppose." Said Alexandra as Hermione and Morag caught up with them in the crowded corridor. "And you forgot Devkins and Reed in your list of useless Professors."

As Devkins had been unable to teach them anything of value last year, the tradition now continued with Professor Kaitlyn Reed. The woman seemed nice enough, but she had also alas the drawback of belonging in the category of women worshipping Gilderoy Lockhart. No, worshipping was too weak a word to describe this intensive veneration of the wizard a large majority of the Hogwarts population suspected to be an enormous fraud. Reed was the founder of the "Hogwarts Gilderoy Lockhart's Fan-club", leading a dozen or so brainwashed girls from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in a movement which could have been amusing if he did not have so many similarities with a sect.

"We should take a short-cut." Said Morag as more and more Gryffindors poured from a nearby corridor so fast the corridor and the stairs which came after became so crowded it was difficult to put one step behind the other without pushing or kicking another boy or girl.

"We are taking the short-cut." Remarked Alexandra. Making the matter worse was the fact they were just behind the Golden trio of Gryffindor and its infernal cohorts. Ronald Weasley was his usual self, shouting his love of the Quidditch and his dedication to the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team above all else. At least he had stopped bothering Hermione about Crookshanks. Most surprisingly, it had been Leo Black who had put him back in less antagonistic mood, going so far to buy him a curious red-orange rat-which had been unoriginally named Chudley-to retain some measure of peace.

"I'm sure the Cannons are going to break this run of bad luck. If they win against the Harpies next week-end..."

Morag laughed at that, a noise fortunately covered by the bedlam of the dozens of students surrounding them. The Chudley Cannons were currently on a series of twenty-eight defeats, most of them with a minimum of three hundred points margin. Three managers and seventeen players had been hired and fired since September, _Quidditch Kingdom_ and _Seeker World_ , the two most respectable magazines on the subject were unanimous it would take a new whole team and the hiring of dozens curse-breakers to stop the string of humiliations. One or two photos which had been published in the sport section of the _Daily Prophet_ gave the idea hiring one of the Hogwarts Quidditch team would actually be an improvement. No, the Chudley Cannons were not unlucky. 'Unlucky' was too weak for a proper assessment. A Bulgarian retired player had described it as 'a rotten luck turning good players into clowns'. End of the quote. Firing all the team, changing the name, buying luck potions and heirlooms and recruiting a competent manager were the actions the circumstances required.

The good atmosphere of laughing discreetly at the Cannons misfortunes stopped abruptly when at the end of the stairs their progression and those of the Gryffindor before them was stopped.

"Oh, no."Moaned Hermione. "Not again!"

Pushing on her tiptoes behind the bushy-haired Gryffindor, Alexandra saw the blonde hair announcing a Malfoy was present. To her side, Nigel groaned.

"What is this imbecile doing?" Asked Morag in a murmur to her side. "If he provokes another prank war, the Professors are going to have him in detentions until the end of the year..."

In her mind, Alexandra was not sure Draco Malfoy would be punished that badly. Nearly every time the Slytherin pure-blood Slytherin was forced to pass in detention, it was with Professor Snape, who never made this spoilt aristocrat's son scour the cauldrons, clean the classroom or prepare disgusting ingredients for the upcoming classes. The punishment always ended quickly anyway. It had been two weeks since the conflict born due to the incident at Black Cobra Manor, but Draco Malfoy had his evenings free again despite having attacked several Gryffindors with plenty of witnesses testifying he was the guilty party.

But to everyone's stupefaction, Malfoy contented himself to throw a newspaper at the head of Leo Black, which missed and was caught by Dean Thomas, sneering "Prepare for your defeat on the Quidditch Pitch, Longbottom" and strayed from the mob forming at the back of the stairs, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Bulstrode on his heels.

"What did he want?" Asked Hermione. "This didn't sound like Malfoy at all!"

Alexandra had to admit Hermione was right. Draco was insulting to any Gryffindor younger than him who crossed his way, but him fleeing the scene before the first exchange of words was extremely unusual.

 _Unless he had the same courier I had this morning_ , realised Alexandra. The courier of Gringotts informing her the Will of Lady Cassiopeia Black had been "unfortunately put into stasis due to certain irregularities observed" had arrived in the early hours. Alexandra and Malfoy had not taken breakfast at the same time, thus she had not noticed if he had received a Gringotts official letter. Honestly she didn't see why he was so disappointed. If Black Cobra Manor was any judge, the possessions of Lady Black had not to meet anyone's definition of 'wealthy'. Maybe it was just for the principle of the thing, or was there anything of sentimental value he had hoped to receive?

"I don't know, but that doesn't look good at all for the Gryffindor Quidditch team." Said Morag, as they passed most of the Gryffindor horde Longbottom was always dragging along in his trail. Most were the same giggling girls following the Boy-Who-Lived everywhere they could. Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Thelma Holmes, Fay Dunbar to list just the second-year Lions. In the rear of the crowd, however, Alexandra watched a young red-haired girl looking at the Golden trio with attention and an emotion on her face which looked like jealousy, before she disappeared in the mass of students.

Coming back to the discussion which had now the Potions homework the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff had received on the morning, Alexandra tried to dismiss the bad vibes she had felt in the corridor. Malfoy acting weirdly, fan-girls to the pursuit of Neville Longbottom...why did life at Hogwarts feel like an organised chaos?

 **17th October 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Ginny Weasley was not furious. She was enraged as hell.

All this week and the previous ones, the only girl of the new Weasley generation had tried to attract the Boy-Who-Lived attention, whether by speaking about Quidditch in his presence, complimenting him on his looks, denigrating Professor Snape or discussing whatever rumours had spread into the castle this week. And for exactly what? Nothing. Nothing! For all her efforts, Neville Longbottom refused to acknowledge her as a person, except once where he had called her "Ron's little sister". By Morgana she wasn't even sure he knew her real name!

Crumpling in her bed of the Gryffindor girl rooms, Ginny fumed in anger. Her mother had insisted over and over she had to conquer the Boy-Who-Lived for herself thorough her childhood, giving her all the collection of books bearing the same name, constantly repeating how Neville Longbottom was brave, gallant, the perfect pure-blood heir gracing Hogwarts from his presence. With her older brother Ron making a friendship with Neville last year, the Weasley matriarch had stepped up her efforts, berating Ginny when participated in any other activity than cooking and doing the chores. Ginny had always been forbidden to play on the family broomsticks, not that it had hampered her as she regularly flew on her brother's broom on the sly, but now anything her mother deemed 'un-girly' was prohibited.

The reality had been far less rosy once they went to Diagon Alley. With her hand-down robes too great for her, a cauldron so rusted and counting dents by the dozens, Neville Longbottom had not demanded her in marriage the first time he had seen her. He had looked at her, and then looked elsewhere. And why wouldn't he? Ginny was poor. Ginny had nothing compared to girls like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil, who were wearing brand-new robes, bought expensive perfumes or shampoos or spent hours in every shop of Diagon Alley. The last child of the Weasley family, on the other hand, had not been able to buy her own magical wand at Mr Ollivander shop. She was currently using her paternal grandmother's, thirteen inches of cedar wood and a core of dragon heartstring. It worked alright, but something was amiss, a sensation signifying the wand was not hers. As she had not a Sickle to spare, never mind the few Galleons a new wand would require, it would have to do.

Ginny breathed louder on her bed. She had known her parents were poor, but the reality had still struck her hard. Even the only girl she knew from her childhood, Luna Lovegood, had had the money to buy normal robes. Not Ginny. No girl in Gryffindor had told her anything directly the night of her Sorting or the days after, but she had seen the looks of pity, the whispers in the hall. It had been one more disillusionment after the rest passed this point. Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived and the leader of the Golden trio of Gryffindor, was not the perfect Prince she had dreamt of. Ginny had imagined a popular boy, calm and gentle, helping his fellow housemates to finish their homework, playing a prank or two and humble about his fame. This vision had rapidly been shattered. Neville Longbottom was popular all right, but he had nothing peaceful in him. His hobby was playing cruel pranks on unsuspecting Slytherin and whoever had irritated him during the week. Helping someone with homework could not be further down his preoccupations. Merlin's beard, doing his own homework was a point not figuring in his top hundred list of things to do for the week!

But with this realisation had come something worse: fear. Ginny was in good terms with the rest of the girls in her year, particularly Jade Angela and Rosalyn Ewhirst. But she had not missed the looks which came with those who were prompt to criticise the Boy-Who-Lived in third-year and below. The second-years Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert had literally been driven out of the House because they didn't take Neville's word as a rule, and were now openly mocked as "the Exiled". The two Lions were now only passing time in Gryffindor Tower after curfew, and even then they were isolated, surrounded by distrustful looks. Professor McGonagall was never here to remedy to the situation, and the Prefects never said anything against the Boy-Who-Lived. Ginny didn't want to become an exile like Granger and Wolpert, though sometimes she burnt to denounce their tormentors of the Golden Trio as bullies and petty tyrants, and yes it included her brother Ron.

Breathing a bit slower, Ginny rose from her bed and took out from her trunk her leather journal. She had found it in her Transfiguration book when everybody came back to the Burrow after her father fought with Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts, perhaps a present from the vendor who felt that with a family so poor she needed something for school. Once the dust had been cleaned off, the diary had revealed itself surprisingly virgin. Perfect to write down at the Burrow her dreams and hopes, particularly as the journal was made of a paper that absorbed all the ink! Since her arrival at Hogwarts, she used it more and more to unleash her frustration and her anger. It did not satisfy her as much as a full Bat-Bogey Hex in the face of the Boy-Who-Lived would, but it would have to do. Taking an old quill having formerly belonged to her brother Charlie, Ginny started to write how a miserable day she had been forced to endure.

Her surprise was total, when after the first paragraph, the diary began to answer.


	28. Warnings of Old Magic

**Chapter 28**

 **Warnings of Old Magic**

 **31st October 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Passed the middle of October, the weather over the grounds and the castle of Hogwarts took quickly a turn for the worst. Many students fell ill after having assisted to the Potions class in the dungeons where the temperature of the cauldrons was not enough to erase completely the impression of cold. Few people dared staying in the open corridors, as the wind and the temperature made it a very unpleasant experience. Summer was definitely over, and now Autumn promised to be execrable. While the beginning of October had seen light rains, the raindrops were now falling without stopping for days. The water level of the Black Lake was rising so high it was submerging many students' summer spot, and the short travel to go to the greenhouses for the Herbology classes was a torrent of mud which made a hot shower in the Common Room extremely attractive afterwards.

As the Reserve Seeker of Ravenclaw, Alexandra was only supposed to train on the Sundays with the rest of the team, a fact she was really happy of. The last sessions had ended with her drenched to the skin so bad her skin had almost turned blue, her robes splattered in mud and her motivation to become the titular Seeker largely diminished. And the training Captain Roger Davies supervised was nowhere as insane as the one imagined by Oliver Wood. The Quidditch fanatic who captained the Gryffindor team was sometimes training his 'victims' five times a week. At every possible moment of the day and with an energy which was kind of frightening, the seven red-gold players did tiring sequences until they were comatose. But they were Gryffindors after all, and frankly, Alexandra didn't see the point to train so much when it degraded your academic performances.

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams had put a concerted effort to spy on the Slytherin one, and the Weasley Twins had directed the same effort for Gryffindor House. The result had been a morale-crusher. With their new Nimbus 2001, the Slytherin team was now timed at average speeds of 120 miles per hour. In ideal conditions -which were less and less present with the terrible autumn weather- Flint and his band of pure-blood brutes were seven greenish blurs, playing in another dimension and speed than the rest of the Hogwarts students.

The worst part was that she had been right from the beginning, according to Morag correspondence with her parents. The Nimbus 2001 had indeed been rushed too fast on the market, and they had a lot of defaults in their Braking Charms. They were several other deficient features only a Quidditch specialist like Morag MacDougal or Ronald Weasley could understand, but this was by far the biggest default. The Nimbus 2001 was only an imperfect, boosted version of the Nimbus 2000. It was a world-class broom, one who should only be available to Quidditch professional players. But it was not THE world-class broom everyone waited for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Many Quidditch League teams of England and Ireland had kept their Nimbus 2000, and now some Keepers and Beaters, who didn't need an inaccurate speed boost, were reversing to their former broomsticks.

But at Hogwarts, the defaults of the Nimbus 2001 didn't matter. The Quidditch teams of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Hufflepuffs had only two Nimbus combined for three teams...and one was belonging to Alexandra, who wasn't in the titular Ravenclaw team. And it was an old second-hand model anyway. The regular Ravenclaw players had four Cleansweep 7, two Comet 250 and one Comet 260. The Hufflepuffs played with two Comet 240, two Comet 250, two Cleansweep 6 and one Comet 260. The Gryffindors had the largest number of different broom models: two Cleansweep 5, one Comet 250, one Cleansweep 6, one Comet 260, one Cleansweep 7 and one Nimbus 2000.

Against the monstrous performances of the Nimbus 2001, only the Nimbus 2000 of Neville Longbottom was of any utility. The other brooms, Comets and Cleansweeps, were simply out-classed, out-performed and a lot of other derogatory commentaries some of the most fervent Quidditch addicts grumbled in the corridors.

"So that's why Malfoy is insufferable at the moment. Okay, more insufferable than usual on a normal day." Alexandra was currently busy telling Morag, as they left the Ravenclaw Common Room to go the Halloween Fest in the Great Hall. "The blonde git thinks there's no way his team will lose. According the unofficial bets the Professors say we aren't supposed to make, a Gryffindor victory is at nine-to-one."

"That high?" Wondered Morag.

After a brief period of adaptation, the MacDougal Heiress had been adopted by the group formed by Alexandra, Hermione and Nigel. While Morag was a pure-blood, she had none of the bigotry shared by some families like the Malfoys, the Notts or the Smiths. On the other hand, she had not lost her tongue and did not hesitate to gently reprimand Hermione when the bushy-haired girl broke the wizarding customs and the decorum rules. Morag provided also an objective view of politics and events in Britain, because if her family was really influential in Ireland and in trade, her parents were firmly on the Neutral block of the Wizengamot and as such did not follow Dumbledore or Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, usually it's the Weasley Twins and a couple of older Gryffindors who organise the bets. But this year, exceptionally, some Slytherins have decided to begin their own system. One wonders why."

"Should we try to ruin them?" Asked Morag with a smile which made Alexandra wonder why the blue-eyed girl hadn't been sorted in Slytherin.

 _Probably for the same reason as I. Too dangerous for the Snakes precious pure-blood lives._

"Don't think so." The Potter Heiress refused." If Slytherin wins, it will be us who will have filled the pockets of the Snakes with gold. With the Snakes boys and girls being their parent's children," which was a polite way they had a good chance to become Death Eaters or the lackeys of any Dark Lord like their relatives, «I don't want to support them financially."

"Understandable." Whispered the red-haired Ravenclaw, who then turned on a corridor on their right instead of continuing straight-on to descend on the fourth floor.

"Err...Morag? This is not the fastest way to the Great Hall?"

"I know." Replied the Heiress of House MacDougal. "But I waited to talk to you in a place where there are no portraits or anything to hear us."

Effectively, this part of the sixth floor was one which had not been well maintained or embellished. There were just bare grey walls with no decoration or medieval painting in sight.

"Tell me Alexandra." Morag told her in a grave voice. "What do you know of the Old Ways?"

Alexandra stared at the red-haired Ravenclaw in silence for a moment, before finally answering.

"That they are the magical versions of the non-magical Celtic traditions, if the information I found about them is correct. Four major celebrations during the years: Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh and I think there is something on the day of the winter solstice too. Something called Yule?"

Alexandra passed her hand in her black hair in annoyance. "There was very little information in Hogwarts library about that, though it is not surprising considering the Ministry of Magic has classified them as forbidden magical rituals since 1983. Participating in them is worth a ten-year prison sentence at Azkaban, I believe."

"Good sum-up for a non-initiate," Said Morag, "but also incomplete."

"The Old Ways are indeed magical rituals, but contrary to everything the Ministry sprouts this day, they aren't Dark, evil or anything which corrupts the soul of the poor wizards and witches who participate in it. They are. They exist. They are our means to protect our lands, our crops, our traditions, our magic. "The voice of Morag grew more intense, more passionate as she continued." They are times where we need to cleanse our souls and magic, to re-align us in life. Moments we need to remember our songs, our ancestral traditions."

"The books said they can be... means for the Dark and Light Powers to enter our world." Said Alexandra when Morag stopped speaking, trying to digest what the other Ravenclaw had said.

"They can." Agreed Morag. "And these moments are usually blessed because their apparition is followed by times of great abundance and prosperity."

"Usually?"

"You said it yourself, Alexandra. Participating in a ritual of the Old Ways is worth a jail sentence. As a result, most of the families who continued to practise them are doing it on their own, or only with their closest allies. With so few people gathered, there hadn't been a significant event at one of our celebrations in over eighty years." The regret in the Ravenclaw girl's voice was palpable.

"I suppose...it has had some noticeable effects?" Asked the Potter Heiress.

"Oh, nothing to worry about," Affirmed Morag in a tone copied from Alexandra when she did sarcastic remarks. "Famines. Starvation. Crops destroyed. The equilibrium of the seasons modified. War. Conflict. Every time we don't respect nature and our traditions, then our world doesn't see any reason to respect us back, Alexandra."

"I wasn't aware it had gotten so bad." The green-eyed girl said in a subdued tone.

"Not many do." Said the MacDougal Heiress. "Half-Bloods and Muggleborns who have entered our world these last decades don't know anything about the Old Ways. It's not like they can't participate," she quickly added as Alexandra frowned, "but too many trust blindly the Ministry or, well..."

"You can say it, you know." Alexandra said with a loud sigh. "Dumbledore decreed the Old Ways are Dark, and who are we humble mortals to speak against him?"

"Not like I wanted to say it, but close enough." Morag nodded.

"That doesn't explain why you are speaking to me about it, Morag. I mean I'm flattered and everything to know about this, but why me? I was raised in a non-magical environment, and the only things I know from the Old Ways are things I found in books about Celtic traditions. There are plenty of people I'm sure who know way better than me the centuries-old traditions of the wizards and witches."

In fact, a lot of her interest in Celtic tradition came from the fact Tolkien books had been impregnated of it. Too bad a lot of the primary's school and local libraries were so incomplete in their sources.

"But they are not Heiresses and allied to House MacDougal."

"The alliance I understand, but I thought Heiress was only was a nobility title." Told Alexandra, once more cursing the lack of existence of a guide to learn everything she needed to know on her eleventh birthday.

"No, each Heiress or Heir at birth is the subject of a fairly harmless magical ritual destined to make her or him a potential Lady or Lord in his own right. It's one of a few things Dumbledore hasn't managed to ban as Chief Warlock."

"And you know I received it while I was a baby?" Alexandra asked.

"The revealing spells for this ritual are really simple. And you tested positive to all of them." Said simply Morag. "Now I want to ask you a simple question. Do you want to join my family and me for the Samhain celebrations at MacDougal manor?"

"And when exactly are said celebrations?"

"After dinner."

"That's...how do we leave Hogwarts anyway? Dumbledore is certainly not going to give us the authorisation to leave for banned rituals!"

"Let's just say that while our esteemed Headmaster is against the Old Ways, there are some teachers who aren't so prejudiced and agree to cover us for our 'family reunions' ". We will Floo to MacDougal Manor and we will be back in time for Monday classes. So are you okay with it?"

Alexandra tired to think calmly and clearly, a not so easy task when the thoughts rushed in her head. Her only religious experiences so far in her life had been with the Dursleys on a few Sunday mornings, and Vernon and Petunia had always applied the logic that "God hates Freaks".

As a result, her personal religious fervour had been situated somewhere between zero and something lower than the abyss of the Moria's great bridge. Knowing the Church in the Bible recommended to "burn the witch" once she had known the truth about her inheritance had not helped things. Still, what Morag had said struck a chord within her. For all the classes they had had since their Sorting in first year, there had been no real explanation of the origin of magic and the traditions of this world. Halloween was a non-magical invention, as were Christmas, Valentine's Day and Easter for that matter. Moreover, participating in these celebrations was a means to escape the road her magical guardian, one Albus Dumbledore, had planned for her. Which made it indeed all the more attractive.

"Yes, I will go with you for the Samhain celebrations. But I hope you have the clothes and everything needed for it, because I certainly don't."

"It will not be a problem." Smiled Morag. "But I'm afraid I must ask you a Vow of Secret before we go to the Feast in the Great Hall."

Alexandra narrowed her eyes, but didn't protest. It was logical, after all. If celebrating the Old Ways the...old way was as taboo as Morag and the Ministry implied, Oaths were not simply needed, they had to be required for the safety of every family.

"How about Nigel and Hermione?"

"They can't come, I asked." Revealed the Irish witch. "Nigel's grandfather is an old goat who is waiting for a good excuse to disinherit him. As for Hermione, she would need a full Initiation...and she refused to do it."

Alexandra grimaced, knowing the dark aspects of rituals repeated endlessly in the Ministry official books had certainly something to do with the decision of the bushy-haired Gryffindor. Or was it the Leader of the Light's vocal denunciations of the Old Ways? Something to keep in mind and discuss with her later.

Drawing her wand, Alexandra spoke "I, Alexandra Victoria Potter, swear to keep Secret every word and knowledge concerning the Old Ways, their traditions and the magical practises of House MacDougal which has just been spoken. By my magic, so I swear. So Mote it be!"

A blue flash from her wand lightened for an instant the corridor, and Alexandra felt something icy penetrate her skin, the magic of the Vow taking hold.

"And I, Morag Ciara MacDougal, swear to keep Secret every word and knowledge concerning the Old Ways, their traditions and the magical practises of House Potter which has just been spoken. By my magic, so I swear. So Mote it be!"

A second blue flash echoed from the red-haired Ravenclaw's wand before being channelled into her body.

After that, the rest of the travel to the Great Hall turned to safer subjects of conversation. Charms Homework, where Professor Dhillon had given them a big dissertation on the mastery of the Levitation charms and its derivatives. Then it was the turn of Potions, with the rivalry between Snakes and Lions did ravages: a rat eye sent by Gregory Goyle had found mysteriously its way in the cauldron of Leo Black, and Professor Snape had refused to admit one of his precious Slytherins was at fault. As one member of the Golden Trio -or the New Marauders as the new nickname rose in popularity- had been hurt, the rumour mill was waiting with glee what form the revenge of the Lions was going to take.

As the two Ravenclaw girls were about to pass the doors leading to the Great Hall and seat to their table for the Halloween Feast, Alexandra remarked a weak rope of energy rose from the ground in front of her right at the entrance, one which was pale and scintillating, really difficult to see to the human eye.

"Morag. Stop." She told to her friend who had continued to advance.

"What is your problem, Potty?" Asked the infamous sneering voice of Draco Malfoy behind her. "Afraid eating will give you bad marks?"

Rotating to see the Heir of the Malfoy family, Alexandra saw Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson laugh at the pathetic joke of their leader. Behind them came a dozen or so Slytherins second and first-year.

"Not at all. Heir Malfoy. But I would be terribly," the Potter heiress stressed as much as she could the last word, «lacking in courtesy and traditions if I didn't let you enter first the Hall."

And she emphasized the sentence with a large movement of her hand and a small scrape. Any other Ravenclaw student of second-year would have understood she was making fun of them, but the four Slytherins were unlikely to win any competition of intelligence in the short-term future.

Malfoy inflated like a frog as his ego was caressed, all prudence banished from his mind. The son of Lucius Malfoy marched in a triumphant manner in the direction of the Slytherin table, his three lackeys on his heels...only to stop a few seconds later with screams of horror. Touching the imperceptible rope of magic had activated a sort of trap with a can of paint and coloured the four second-years Slytherin entirely in orange. Not just the robes, no. The hair, the face, the robes, the hats: everything had become a vibrant, horrid and brilliant orange. Listening to the laughter behind her, Alexandra looked over her shoulder in time to see the Golden Trio running up in the stairs.

"Professor Snape! It's Longbottom , Black and Weasley!" Whined Malfoy, whose platinum-blonde hair had become a deep orange which was making him frankly ridiculous. "Look at what they've done! When my father will hear of this..."

Morag and Alexandra looked each other, and then ran to the Ravenclaw table doing their best not to laugh, as Professor Snape, black robes bellowing theatrically, left his place at the Head table and went to examine the new skin's colour of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. The four pranked Slytherin didn't seem to enjoy their new appearance, if their moaning was any indication. Crabbe and Goyle were not talking, but it was possible their speed of thoughts was so slow they hadn't still realised the trap they had just fallen into. There was also the issue painting them in orange might make them more presentable, depending on the perspective. It could hardly make them uglier, given that they were currently the persons at Hogwarts bearing the most resemblance to a certain Dudley Dursley.

Fortunately for the orange-painted students, Professor Snape was not only competent in potions, cauldrons and strange ingredients. Two twirls of his wand, and Malfoy plus cohorts were back to their original colours. Alas, the Potions master could do nothing for the humiliation the girl and the three boys had just been handed. Morag and Alexandra had refrained to burst in cries and laughter, but the rest of the crowd now assembled in the Great Hall had no such compunction. At the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, dozens of students savoured the discomfiture of the Malfoy Heir and his allies. The Slytherins were not laughing, their unity against every other Houses prevented them to do so, but Snakes like Nott and Higgs were smirking, and no one rose to display his support to the Malfoy Heir. Even the young cousin of the arrogant and wealthy pure-blood Lyre de Male-Foi was contemplating with a disabused expression the spectacle unfolding. Unlike her relative, she knew the blow the family's reputation had suffered by acting like a petulant child.

Returning to Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin was presently showing a face which would have made any living being flee with all celerity. With his black robes and the feeling of imminent death the teacher spread around him, the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends were not going to pass a nice moment when they would be dragged for a fateful meeting with him. At the moment, the caretaker Argus Filch was standing at attention before him, his detested cat Mrs Norris on the right, in all likelihood receiving his marching orders to captures the miscreants plaguing the corridors of the noble school. Finally, Snape ceased to speak and Filch departed the Hall to fight the crime in the corridors. The huge doors progressively closed with a loud "GONG!" and the chatter of conversations as the Headmaster rose from his large seat among his fellow professors.

"Happy Halloween!" Beamed Albus Dumbledore with a grandfather-expression which once more made him an avatar of Merlin or Gandalf on this Earth."The pumpkins are larger than ever and orange reigns supreme! Tick in!"

 _Fine. No sanity in his sentences this Halloween._

The golden plates and the dishes instantly filled themselves of delicious foods. Once more time, the raven-haired witch remarked a great majority of the available meals this evening were denied to the students during the rest of the year. Was Hogwarts having funds problem or did the adults simply want to avoid the future generation of magicians looking like Dudley Dursley? Alexandra felt she could very well deal with this kind of dinner every day. Well apart from the fact she would need to do physical activities every day, not just the running in the castle she did three times a week. Oh, and while the food was excellent, the clouds of bats and the large pumpkins cut to display large mouths with candles in them were not of good taste, at least in her opinion. The music which was also played by invisible musicians was a bit too dramatic for Halloween. That said an adult had chosen the songs, thus it was perhaps excusable.

All in all, it was for an acceptable dinner and Alexandra could see Hermione and Nigel shared her opinion at the Gryffindor table. There was certainly no troll to kill the ambiance tonight. No member of the staff except the caretaker was absent, so it was highly improbable a monster was currently on rampage at Hogwarts. The green-eyed girl was taking her second part of dessert of the evening and thinking about the upcoming Samhain festivities at MacDougal Manor when an awful sound echoed abruptly in the Great Hall. Like if someone had pushed a switch, the joyous voices of all the students and professors who were enjoying the moment died, with fear and surprise appearing to replace happiness and tranquillity. What exactly could have made such a noise?

Before the fastest babbling student had the seconds to make his opinion known, Headmaster Dumbledore rushed outside the hall, with an agility and a speed which were quite frankly phenomenal when one paused to think the wizard was over a hundred years old. In spite of his advanced years, the Grand Sorcerer had accomplished an athletic performance a man half his age would be quite happy to imitate. Granted, wizards had a higher life expectancy than the rest of their non-magical cousins but still...

"He didn't say to go directly to the dormitories this time, didn't he?" Said Morag as countless students raced after the Headmaster to see what had just hastened the end of the Halloween Feast.

"Well there's no imbecile to shout 'Troll in the dungeon!' this time, isn't it?" Replied Alexandra, as Hermione and Nigel raced to join them from the Gryffindor table. "But this time, I don't know about you, but I have a very bad feeling."

"What was this sound?" Panicked Nigel, coming straight from the Gryffindor table.

"It might be one of the Hogwarts wards alerting Professor Dumbledore that something grave has happened." Proposed Hermione, as the group of four followed the teachers and the dozens of students running out of the Great Hall and climbing to the second floor where the Headmaster had disappeared.

The progression was not easy. The corridor and the stairs they climbed were not part of the main avenues the students used to go to a class or the House's Common Rooms. As a result, what could happen when hundreds of students pressed on at the same time in the same direction and towards the same goal predictably happened. A crowd formed, with each witch and wizard in the crowd whispering, speaking out outright shouting his opinion about the matter. Until they reached the second floor where Professor Dumbledore had stopped.

The first thought which came to Alexandra when they reached the location, their progression hidden by a large group of bulky Hufflepuffs fifth-years, was how much this part of the castle looked like the one where Morag had spoken to her about the Old Ways. No wizarding portraits. No decorations. No classrooms. No enchanted windows. Just a bare, dark wall of stone, which might have been there since Hogwarts very foundation for all the Ravenclaw witch knew.

The students before Alexandra and Hermione moved a bit on the left, allowing them to finally what was making the firsts persons to reach the scene gasp and shudder.

A circle had been formed by the Hogwarts student population, and in the middle of it were Neville Longbottom, Leo Black and Ron Weasley. With a certain satisfaction Alexandra noticed the trio was looking shameful and apprehensive. Next to them was Headmaster Dumbledore himself, who had drawn his wand and was now lightening two statues. Statues? No, these weren't statues. It was the caretaker Argus Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris, who both looked like they had been turned into stone.

That was bad. Very bad. But there was more worrying. As lights came out from the wands of dozen of students, the corridor became clearer and forcing her eyes through the darkness, Alexandra finally perceived the inscription.

Foot-high words had been graved magically in the wall, and now at the light of the wands and the torches they began to burn, shimmering in the darkness to reveal their sinister message.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

To Alexandra's side, Hermione groaned.

"Please, someone tell me it's a new horrible joke of the Golden Trio..." Murmured Nigel.

"If it's them, they are improving." Whispered Alexandra. "From glue and painting pranks to something that turns an adult into stone in over an hour?"

Then someone shouted through the buzzing low-voiced conversations.

"Enemies of the heir, beware! First the Squib, you'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. The idiot blonde had pushed through the middle of the crowd, his blue eyes alive and enjoying the spectacle, his usually bloodless face flushed in a tone reminding he had been orange-coloured not so long ago, and he grinned at the sight of the immobile Filch and his pet.

Alexandra felt truly revolted and disgusted at the arrogant blonde bigot, who was obviously taking pleasure at the macabre scene. True, she had never been a great fan of Filch and his cat. But really, nobody liked the caretaker. Who would like a person having the manners, the corporal hygiene and the ethics more in line with the dark periods of the Middle Ages rather than the late twentieth century? Attacking him like that was nevertheless going too far, and insulting all those who had non-magical ancestry in public was even less acceptable. Alexandra was really in the mind of cursing the blonde git here and now for having the audacity to denigrate her mother's ancestry. But before Alexandra had the time to draw her wand, the action began.

The Malfoy Heir, too busy gloating, had neglected to watch his surroundings. If he had, Draco Malfoy would have noticed he was surrounded, not by his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle or other Slytherin bigots, but by Hufflepuff fourth and fifth-years, a good proportion of them coming from the non-magical world. Their reaction was swift and brutal. In less than five seconds, the blonde second-year took two punches in the belly, one kick in the legs, his pale face began to cover in pustule and the lace of his shoes mysteriously animated to form a complicated pattern between his legs. Then the sole child of Lucius Malfoy lost his equilibrium, although he managed to land on his backside.

Fortunately or unfortunately for the future of the Malfoy family, Dumbledore had emerged from his magical trance and began again to give his safety instructions, a fact which surely saved Draco from a lengthy stay in the infirmary.

"All the students return to their Common Rooms!" Said the old and powerful wizard with his wand pulsating silver sparks to make himself remarked.

"Come with me, Minerva," Dumbledore said to Professor McGonagall. "You too, Misters Longbottom, Weasley and Black."

Gilderoy Lockhart, who had managed to reach to the incident scene in his horrid and flashy orange-purple wizard robes, stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore, in a tone which managed to be at the same time thankful and cold towards the incompetent Defence Professor.

The crowd parted to let them pass in a silence of death, punctuated only by the whining of Draco Malfoy. Lockhart, looking excited and important as usual, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. After that, every student began to depart to return to their respective Common Rooms, the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors in their towers, the Hufflepuffs towards the first floor and the Slytherins in the dungeons.

Saying goodbye to Hermione and Nigel for the night, Alexandra left with Morag.

"What is the Chamber of Secrets, by the way?" Asked Michael Corner, one of their fellow second-year housemates.

"No idea." Replied his friend Stephen Cornfoot, one of the pure-bloods who was among the specialists of Wizarding legends and traditions. "But I hope they catch the culprit rapidly."

Exchanging a dismayed look with Morag, Alexandra was not wasting her breath to wait such an unlikely resolution. If last year was any judge, the culprits at Hogwarts weren't caught until it was too late.

"Ready for Samhain?" Whispered Morag. «At the next corner we turn to the right and we run to Professor Babbling's office."

Alexandra nodded with firm resolution. She had had some doubt to participate in an Old Ways ritual, but with another Halloween turning to disaster at Hogwarts, going to MacDougal Manor was a safer course than she would have thought in other circumstances.

 **31th October 1992 and 1st November 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland**

In the stupor provoked by the mysterious attack on Argus Filch and Mrs Norris, none of the other Ravenclaw students had remarked Alexandra and Morag's departure. Opening the unlocked door of the Runes Professor Batsheda Babbling, the two young witches had taken the Floo powder (which by a mysterious coincidence was largely in evidence among the mantelpiece ornaments), they had shouted "MacDougal Manor!" and disappeared in a whirlwind of green fire. On the good side, this method of transport was way more pleasant in Alexandra's opinion than the Portkey taken to Black Cobra Manor. On the bad side, it was less enjoyable than teleportation or broom riding.

When they arrived to the Irish Manor, all lights were out. Morag explained quickly to Alexandra how they would not be re-lightened until the end of the ritual, and now they had to hasten. The ritual of Samhain was about to begin, and Lady MacDougal, Morag's mother, had according to the principal interested threatened to her to decrease her monthly allowance by half if she dared come late to the celebration.

"You were late once?" Could not stop to ask Alexandra, as they entered in a room which looked like reserved for invites as it was relatively lightly decorated with two simple paintings representing Irish fields full of wild flowers.

"When I was ten." Admitted the red-haired Ravenclaw. "I had gotten to the little village not far from here where several other children live, I forgot the time and I came...very late home. Never forgot the sermon my mother spoke to me afterwards."

Morag then turned towards with her, her perfect white teeth shining in the penumbra. With a gesture of her hand she showed her some clothes on the unoccupied bed.

Approaching it, Alexandra realised it was a wizarding robe, but very different from the large black ones of Hogwarts. To start with, it was red. A deep crimson red. Unlike the Hogwarts robes, it had not been conceived to be large and for anyone to wear pulls, shirts or any sort of clothes under it. It was really skin-tight...and to Alexandra's astonishment it was clear not much would be able to be worn under that, not even tights.

"You're kidding right?" The green-eyed Ravenclaw asked to Morag, uncomfortably aware she was blushing and that her Ravenclaw friend was laughing silently of her embarrassment.

"Strip, Alexandra." Laughed Morag. And to give the example, Morag joined the gesture to the speech and began to remove all her clothes.

Sighing and wondering at sometimes the curious traditions of witches and wizards, Alexandra took off in turn her own robes, though she suffered another blush when she realised every clothes had really to come off for the celebration, including bras and panties.

Imitating Morag, Alexandra then put the red robes and most of her blush went away. The new clothes had warming charms and were less difficult to put-on than she had expected. They were as revealing as they seemed, alas. Standing on her feet and looking in the only mirror of the room, she could not stop to gasp as the teenager in red robes certainly couldn't be her. She looked...elegant.

"Is that all?" Alexandra asked to Morag, without looking behind her.

"Not quite." Replied the red-haired witch. And as Alexandra was still busy watching her reflection in the mirror, the other witch came behind her and posed a red mask on her face, which instantly fit closely around her head.

"Wow. Just, wow." Whispered Alexandra. In the mirror, she and Morag were now virtually indistinguishable, the red robes moulding their bodies, the masks hiding their visages and a sort of Colouring Charm worked because their hairs were now both a deep purple instead of black and red. Only their feet were not concerned by the different Samhain clothes, the robes stopping at their ankles.

"Now we don't speak until dawn, Alexandra. Not a word." Said Morag in a deadly serious tone. "Enjoy the instant, and remember, let the magic flow into you."

Both the Potter and MacDougal Heiresses left the room, descended one set of stairs and left MacDougal Manor, marching bare-feet in the obscurity in the direction of a large group of imposing stones, which appeared to be dolmens. It was hard to judge in the night, but Alexandra believed there were other witches and wizards marching towards the same meeting point.

Once they had reached their destination, this assumption was revealed true. In the middle of the ancestral stones, small candles made in the middle of pumpkins provided the only source of light, revealing between twenty and thirty figures dressed like Morag and Alexandra in skin-tight red robes. Without a word spoken, every participant formed a circle around the biggest dolmen, a large black stone where hundreds, no thousands of runes had been engraved. Piled at the base of the stone were large pumpkins, fruits, vegetables and every sort of cereals which could be cultivated in England. There was also a cow. The animal looked very old and was tied to the stone with a black leash.

One of the masked women in the circle raised her hands, a silent command and every candle in the pumpkins diminished in intensity, before finally being extinguished. In the darkness and the silence, the witch which had just plunged the assembly in the darkness approached the cow in the centre of the circle. She took seconds petting her...and then she struck, slitting the throat of the animal in a fluid and precise movement. Then the masked woman returned to her place in the circle, giving her dagger to the person to her right, who advanced and plunged the bloody dagger in the flesh of the now deceased cow.

One by one, each person in the circle, including Alexandra advanced and shed blood with the dagger. In other circumstances, she would have judged the task to be horrible, but there was a sense of sadness, of powerful power in the air. It was full of magic. Not the magic of Hogwarts, full of light and the joy of students. Deep and raw magic, the type which was practised thousands of years ago, when humanity was young and science was not even a whisper. A time where magic ruled sovereign and was present everywhere in the grass and the rivers. A time which did not exist anymore today.

Once everyone had played its part with the dagger, a new phase of the ritual began. One by one, the witches and wizards of the circles advanced and with their bare-hands, without wands, lightened with their magic one candle circling the dead animal. Unlike the previous step, the length of the time varied a lot: some of the participants needed minutes to light the flame without their wands, while others managed quasi-instantly. Alexandra had not any difficulty, her wandless magic for once answered on command, but the unknown massive wizard on her right took nearly ten minutes.

This task done, the Samhain ritual went on and the women, men, boys and girls present called the magic within them, transforming the circle of candles, the dead cow and all the food stacked around the red stone into an impressive bonfire. It was at this very moment Alexandra realised why these celebrations had been strictly forbidden as part of the Old Ways. The black stone, plunged into the heart of the bonfire, was now a tower of darkness with the runes on it pulsating a glowing crimson colour. Smoke and fire erupted from it, and soon figures of shadows emerged from the dolmen, who was more and more taking the appearance of a gate. No, not a gate. It was a veil. A veil between the world of the living and the dead.

If Alexandra had any doubts about it, she recognised some of the forms now dancing, spirits she had been confronted to when they were alive. A colossal form which could be none other than a troll. A human-sized one with a turban. Professor Devkins. Hundreds of smaller ones, goblins she had seen die at Brise-Roc. Some of the curse-breakers having met their end in this mountainous fortress were there too. Afterwards, Alexandra would be at a loss how much time this part of the ceremony lasted. The figures in the smokes animated, danced and played, their last tribute to the world they had left forever. It was a beautiful experience, but also an extremely humbling one, that reminded next Samhain it could be each of the witches and wizards present which would join the spirits in their last homage.

Finally, the smoke dissipated and the red runes on the stone saw their redness fade away. The bonfire was almost consumed now, the pumpkins, the cereals and the cow, all had been devoured by the magical flames. The darkness was still total, but to her back, Alexandra could guess the dawn would not be long in coming right now, courtesy of long Astronomy lessons. Slowly, the witch, who had led the rituals raised her hand slowly over her head. Exactly what she had intended to do, Alexandra honestly didn't know.

Because at this very moment, the bonfire re-lightened itself. But the fire was not the magical red with purple that had been previously lightened by the participants. It was a green magical fire, and Alexandra realised with a certain sense of doom she recognised the colour. The Potter Heiress saw it every time she examined her eyes in the mirror every morning. From the fire, a shadow formed, indistinct but clearly there where there had been nothing before.

A massive crow emerged from the green fire, and then came landing on her right shoulder. Alexandra winced under the weight of the bird, which was several times heavier than Atalanta. The rest was so confused Alexandra would never be sure if it was reality or her own imagination. Thousands of images, visions and scenes rushed before her very eyes, scenes of battles, births and deaths. War and peace, nice cultivated lands and complete ruins. Alexandra watched as a great snake divided itself in two before bursting in a cascade of blood. Spectres came and danced, dark fortresses rose and fell. Creatures from tales and nightmares screamed in the night. A massive army, magnificent warriors of the light, mounted on horses, massing for battle. A circle of dolmens under the sunset witnessed an ambush, heroes surrounded by enemies. A grandiose arena of long age pasts returned to its former glory, and a crowd screaming for battle and murder. A volcano erupted in ashes and lava, wizards and witches fought each other while darkness absorbed everything. Grandiose palaces illuminated the world from their thousand of lights, with young adults dancing and partying in expensive clothes. A man rising from a putrid fog forcing dark-robed figures to bow and acclaim him. Disputes and feuds obscured assemblies of the elders and the wise. Monsters entered the dimension and destroyed millions. A great fish sank ships and sundered the coastal areas. A great white fortress was built in the middle of an ocean of green flames. Great dragons obscured the skies. Endless armies of automatons advancing in an unstoppable tide. Light and darkness fought a last time in the middle of fire, water, wind and earth. At no moment of her life Alexandra had not been prepared for this torrent of visions. The Potter Heiress progressively fell to her knees under the onslaught of horrors and marvels she was now forced to contemplate. Finally, she saw the crow renew his flight again and plunge in the fire.

From the emerald abyss, an imperious voice was heard. Or was it all in her head?

"You will lead my armies to the final battle."

The green flames died instantly. It was Alexandra's last vision before everything stopped and she let Morag take her outside the circle of ancient stones.


	29. One Gryffindor to save them all

**Chapter 29**

 **One Gryffindor to save them all**

 **3 November 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

In the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, Leo Black, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom were struggling over their Potions homework. All three were in a very bad mood, having had to support Professor Severus Snape in the afternoon. Melting one cauldron, earning two evenings of detention and losing twenty points for Gryffindor had not made the day any better. The red-haired member of the Golden Trio was showing a far angrier expression than his two friends though, which might have a thing or two with his severely damaged wand. Instead of removing ink strains from his Potions assignment, the magical focus was igniting the parchment his essay was currently written on. The homework, already of poor quality, had now good odds of earning his owner a 'T'.

Fuming as much as the flames which had risen over his homework in the last minutes, Ron shut down his Potions book. Seconds later, Neville and Leo imitated him. They all loathed the Potions class, a feeling made it easier by the teacher overseeing their work. Unlike the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw who dealt with the mediocre Junior Professor Whitehead, the second-years Gryffindor and Slytherin had to endure the presence of Professor Snape. The Head of Slytherin had never hidden his disdain of the Lions and his favouritism of his own House; therefore the New Marauders and their housemates had reduced their interest in the course to the potential application of liquids for pranks of all kinds. A series of 'P' and 'D' had not helped change their opinion. Why do your best writing a ten-inch essay on the third property of Dragon Blood when there were far more interesting places to explore. Moreover, the revelation of Professor Binns about the Chamber of Secrets this afternoon in History class was obviously taking priority over an assignment Snape wouldn't grade fairly.

"Who can it be, though?" Asked Leo Black, pronouncing at high voice what every member of the four Houses had discussed t least once in the last forty-eight hours. "Who is the Heir of Slytherin?"

"It's fairly obvious I think." Said Ron in feigned surprise. "Who do we know who wants all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

The youngest son of Arthur Weasley looked at Neville, seeking his approbation. Leo looked back, seemingly unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy..."

"Of course I am!" Said Ron. "You heard him: "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him..."

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Leo sceptically. "Don't get me wrong, I hate the blonde git, but if he was really able to open the Chamber of Secrets for one year and a half, why do it now?"

"Look at his family!" Said Ron vehemently. The disgust between the Weasley and Malfoy families had existed well before one member of the current generation had been sorted, and it had not gotten better in the last months. "The whole lot of them have always been in Slytherin, they could easily be descendants of Salazar Slytherin. His father's definitely enough, as his the rest of his family. They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries! Handing it down, father to son …"

"Well," said Leo in a cautious manner, "I suppose it's possible, but it could always be someone else..."

"It could also be Potter!" Proposed Weasley. "You all saw how pale she's been since the week-end, I bet she could have used a Dark Ritual to open the Chamber!"

The black-haired Ravenclaw had intervened to defend Granger's cat from Ron, a fact Ron had taken rather badly and it did not help Alexandra Potter dragged a very dark reputation from her traitor of father. On the other hand, it was true the last Potter free to walk the soil of Britain had not looked in perfect health yesterday. Unfortunately for the two fifth-years Ravenclaws who had thought this was an opportunity for some pay-back, the second-best of the second-years had trounced them in magical duel. The head of House Ravenclaw had assigned the older boys months of detention until the end of the year. Best to walk on eggs with this witch.

"This is just speculation." Said darkly Leo. "It could be Greengrass. It could be Nott. Zabini, Carrow, Rosier, Mulciber and other Slytherins have plenty of Death Eaters among their relatives. They have dark heirlooms too; maybe one has the power to open the Chamber. Each of them could have a claim to the Slytherin Lordship."

"Exactly. So how do we find and prove who is behind the attack?" Asked Neville.

"There might be a way," said Leo, throwing glances around to ensure no Prefect was in the vicinity. "My father told me of a Potion they used in their fifth-year for one of their big pranks. The Polyjuice Potion."

Neville frowned, having heard the name somewhere but failing to remember the major details. Their third member was however in the dark.

"What's that?" Said Ron.

"It transforms you into somebody else for an hour or more." Explained Leo. "So we could change into three Slytherins, get into the Slytherin Common Room to see Malfoy or the others Snakes we suspect and ask them a few questions without realising it's us."

"And if Malfoy is boasting about it in the Slytherin Common Room, we will know about it immediately." Remarked Neville. "I like it."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me." Affirmed Ron, his face showing hostility at the idea of becoming a member of the Viper's Den, even for a limited period of time. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"The issue is not here, frankly." Told Leo. "Polyjuice wears off rapidly, without any secondary effects." Well, his father had not spoken of any when he had taken it with his friends, so no need to alarm his friends about minor issues. "The first major problem will be to get hold of the recipe. It's in a book called _Most Potent Potions_ in the Restricted Section of the library."

"Not a problem." Said Neville, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the prank in the preparation stage. "I will steal a signature of this pompous imbecile of Lockhart next time we have class with him. Or maybe even butter him with a few compliments and obtain his signature for real. He is stupid enough to believe we would just be interested in the theory. What's the second problem?"

"Obtaining the ingredients." The assets under his father's control in House Black weren't including Potion shops or everything would have been much simpler. "Some of them are pretty rare and I'm sure some of them aren't sold to Licensed Potioneers."

"We will steal them in Snape's private stores." Said Ron in a bored tone and his two accomplices approved with wide smirks. It would not be the first time something had left the classroom, although these ingredients would need a bigger diversion, not being available for lower-years students.

"The Potion is a month-long to brew." Opposed Leo.

"We will use one of the abandoned rooms on the fourth-floor we discovered at the beginning of the year." Countered Neville. "Anything else?"

"Recruiting a girl for this operation." Said Leo in a categorical tone. "Because I'm not transforming into one. And girls like Potter or Mulciber will not confide in boys."

"Okay. I will recruit Lavender or Parvati for it."

"And lastly, we must absolutely not get caught for this one." Leo affirmed, fixing the rest of the Golden Trio with a total lack of humour. "I'm serious, mates. If we are discovered, expulsion from Hogwarts is definitely possible. The Potion is restricted and I do not want to be tried in front of the whole Wizengamot."

"Very well, we will be extremely careful" Affirmed Neville, taking assurance at finally seeing Malfoy getting his true comeuppance. "Let's begin our plan to discover the Heir of Slytherin. After all, what can go wrong?"

"It's too much work." Groaned Ron. "If you made Malfoy fall of his broom on Saturday, it would save us a lot of trouble."

* * *

 **6 November 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"You seem to have well recuperated from your ordeal."

"Thanks a lot Morag, your approval means a lot to me." Replied Alexandra in an ironic tone which proved at least to herself she had her retort skills fully functional. It would have been better if the red-haired Ravenclaw in front of her didn't laugh at her right this moment. "Now if this Transfiguration assignment was so easy..." She made a sign of the hand to the quantity of papers spread on the table they were occupying in the library.

Morag smiled to her, but inside Alexandra knew Morag had been very worried about her. Samhain was a taxing celebration for under-age witches and wizards at the best of times, including ritual magic and staying awake during the whole night. The Potter Heiress had it worse, though. Because there had been no intervention of a Light or Dark Power for Samhain in over a century, not one of the Samhain participants had anticipated one of the crows of the Celtic Goddess Morrigan to make an appearance.

Alexandra's reason had barely survived this encounter with the Crow Avatar with her mind intact. As Lady Isobel MacDougal had explained her after the fact, in a few seconds Alexandra had seen the future. Or maybe it would be more exact to say the Potter Heiress had seen possibilities of the future. Thousands of possible paths, at the same time. And so many of them ended in bloodshed, carnage and utter ruin. Thanks to the Valar the visions had faded after several minutes. As a matter of fact they had faded so quickly that even with a good memory remembering the details were foggy and indistinct.

Only the voice had not dissipated. A voice apparently she was the sole witch to hear. "You will lead my armies to the final battle." Extremely positive message carried on black wings. But then the Goddess of Fate and Battle, also known as the Phantom Queen, had never been considered a gentle deity. The members of House MacDougal assisting to this mystical scene had seen the crow and the green flames, but no vision had been given to them. Lucky them.

When Alexandra had woken up on Sunday afternoon, it had been a weird sensation. In her mind, she was exhausted while at the same time her body and her magic felt completely re-energised. According to the few explanations Morag's parents had given her before she fell asleep again, it was a combination of the Morrigan's influence and the Samhain ritual. Participating for the first time in a ceremony of the Old Ways, her mind needed time to adapt while her magic and her flesh harmonised with each other. When she had woke up on early Monday morning, Alexandra felt...different. Her appearance was still the same, her visage maybe a bit paler and her eyes a bit more brilliant, but it was inwardly that the changes were the deepest. Well except a fading crow-shaped mark on her right shoulder. But no one could see it so it wasn't a big deal right?

Alexandra felt... freer. Free in her body. Her perception of magic had improved, her wandless magic was again answering to her commands. Before leaving MacDougal Manor, Alexandra had seen the magic bathing the manor when the sun rose over the hills of Ireland. It had been exhilarating. And privately in her mind, she admitted something in her had changed. Alexandra had seen the power and the magnificence of the Old Ways, and she would remember it until her very last breath.

Morag's parents had apparently understood it too, because she had been demanded to swear an Unbreakable Vow. If the Ministry learned from someone what had transpired at Samhain, every participant would be sentenced to a one-way ticket for Azkaban. Understandably, no one from House MacDougal wanted to take the risk. Morag had sworn the same vow after her, to protect the secret from this Samhain. All the participants, members and allies of House MacDougal, had done the same before leaving.

In some ways the following week at Hogwarts had been maddening. She couldn't explain anything to Hermione or Nigel, despite the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl being very insistent to know why she had been absent during the week-end. Nigel was taking it far more discreetly, and as he was from a relatively old pure-blood family, Alexandra believed he had a good idea of where Morag and she had gone. The second reason why this week had been discouraging was her rapid tendency to become tired. Not enough to beat two idiots who had believed she was a good target of course. Her magic was now answering like in a dream, no matter like if she used a wand or no, but Alexandra was crumbling into her bed two hours before curfew, no energy left in her. Fortunately, it was Friday evening, and she was inch by inch recovering her physical resistance.

The third problem had nothing to do with Samhain. It was the matter of the Heir of Slytherin, an issue which caused no small amount of fear in the corridors and the Common Rooms of Hogwarts. Speaking of which, here came Hermione, with poor Nigel carrying a mountain of books from the legends and myths' section.

"Still searching the Heir of Slytherin, Hermione?" Asked Morag.

"Yes, and she's using me as a mule." Complained Nigel, pushing the pile of books he was carrying on the table.

"Hermione, stop using Nigel as your mule." Ordered mockingly Alexandra, trying to find a good conclusion for her Transfiguration homework. Somehow 'why is this principle so complicated' wasn't feeling all right. Maybe-

"Can I borrow Morag instead?" Asked Hermione.

"Hey!" Exclaimed the red-haired Ravenclaw, working on her Astronomy chart.

"You don't seem to be really interested in searching for the Heir of Slytherin." Remarked the Gryffindor girl with her habitual bluntness and lack of tact.

"To be honest, I'm not." Said Alexandra.

"Why? It's..." But Morag had no intention to let her bushy-haired friend finish this sentence.

"The business of the teachers, not ours?" Proposed Morag. "It's not like there's many clues to follow, Hermione. For all we know, the whole incident is the plan of one a seventh-year Gryffindor who found a Petrifaction Spell in the Restricted Section of the library, used it against Filch and wrote a threatening message on the Wall to blame the Slytherins."

"No Gryffindor would do something like that!" Protested Hermione, ever the loyal Lion, even as two-thirds of her own House would be ready to throw her to the wolves at the first opportunity.

"Perhaps not." Replied Alexandra, who personally thought a few jackasses in the ranks of the Lions had the morals to do exactly that. "But can you say the same thing about every other House? I know I can't." Ravenclaws had a fascination for everything which explored the boundaries of magic, and sometimes cruelty able to equal the Slytherins themselves. One of Alexandra's own housemates could very well have acted on his own.

"I'm more interested how the culprit managed to turn Filch into stone with everyone save the Golden Trio in the Great Hall." Intervened Morag. "Unless it was Longbottom and his accomplices all along."

"Perhaps a time-delayed spell?" Suggested Nigel, choosing the former rather than the latter. No surprise, he was sleeping next to Longbottom and his friends. If the Boy-Who-Lived was really behind the attack, Nigel was not exactly in the best position possible.

"Or a Rune-based trap?" Added Alexandra. "I threw a look about this book last week..." Her voice trailed off as the daughter of Lily Potter reflected that last week Hogwarts had been somewhat at peace and the Powers of Magic had been just legend. Sometimes Alexandra acknowledged, the rhythm of revelations shattering her existence was both a blessing and a curse.

"Well, if you help me searching in these books, it will be far easier to see who's the Heir and how he did it." Huffed Hermione, who stubbornly in good Gryffindor held firmly her position in the face of contrary ideas.

"You want to search the genealogy of Salazar Slytherin?" Asked Morag. Seeing Hermione nod positively, Morag continued. "I can spare you the effort, Hermione. The last descendants of Salazar Slytherin were House Gaunt."

"You said 'were'. Does that mean?"

"The House has been declared extinct officially by the Wizengamot in the 1940s." Confirmed the MacDougal Heiress. "Not that it was a great loss. The Gaunts became famous in the nineteenth century to marry between cousins so frequently they made the inbreeding of House Black minor in comparison. At one point I think they were nicknamed...err, no it's not a name best named repeated in public."

"Disgusting." Declared Hermione, her prominent teeth shining when the brown-haired girl groaned in disapproval.

"Well, they paid for it." Said Morag, rolling her shoulders in amusement. "By the end, they were so poor they had only their pure-blood belief left to them. All their alliances had been broken because they believed every noble family was beneath them. As they were violent and practised the Dark Arts, the Ministry was watching them with a very bad eye...the last members died at Azkaban and their House found its end."

"But there could be other Heirs?" Asked Nigel timidly.

"Possible." Alexandra shrugged as she put her last touches on this irritating Transfiguration conclusion. "After, Zacharias Smith is a direct descendant from Helga Hufflepuff. Who knows how many persons in the school can trace their lineage to the Founders?"

"I heard one tale from my father, once." Said Nigel. "Four heirs of the Founders could nominate the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Just a good legend with no basis in reality." Said Morag. "The Board of governors is fully in control of this nomination."

"But if it was true?" Asked Hermione in an interested tone.

"Then...nothing." Said Alexandra. "There is no Heir of Ravenclaw."

"How can you be sure?"

Morag and Alexandra exchanged a glance. While not exactly a taboo subject outside Ravenclaw Tower, the point was not exactly discussed when other Houses were able to hear it. This was not a happy story after all.

"The ghost of our House is called the Grey Lady. But when she was alive, her name was Helena. Helena Ravenclaw." The two Gryffindors widened their eyes in realisation. "She was Rowena Ravenclaw's sole and only daughter, and she died without children."

"Oh." Said Hermione, deflating under the disappointment. "And Gryffindor?"

"Morag?" Alexandra did not bother turning her head in direction of her housemate.

"The problem with Gryffindor is not who are his descendants. It's rather who is not."

"What?" This one Hermione had not see coming. Not a surprise, this was never published in the books printed in this century.

"Godric Gryffindor, in spite of the propaganda by Dumbledore and the Light Party sprouts, was a womaniser without equal and delighted in adulterate relationships. He loved spending his nights with women... and the women loved spending their nights with him. I would not be surprised if he had one child per magical village of Britain before he died at the ripe old age of 174. There may be thousands of witches and wizards who can trace their lineage back to him nowadays. "

"Back to the subject ladies, please." Said Nigel as Hermione looked ready to throw to the throat of Morag for having the temerity to criticize the memory of Godric Gryffindor. "To sum up, we have no idea who could be the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Nope." Said Alexandra cheerfully. "We don't even know if it's a real Heir or just a fake."

"There are still ways to investigate." Proposed Hermione, definitely averse to wait for the storm to pass. "Professor Binns said Salazar Slytherin was a wizard who wanted to exclude the Muggle-borns and those he deemed not worthy to use magic. If we make a list about the Slytherins who follows these ideas, we will have potential suspects."

"You're thinking about Malfoy." Said Morag.

"Yes." Affirmed forcefully Hermione. "When he discovered the scene, it was like he knew beforehand something had happened."

"I don't follow you there." Alexandra told while closing her eyes and channelling a bit of magic through her arm to activate her wand in small green sparks. "Malfoy is a buffoon and the shame of Slytherin House. Oh and he's also a coward. Each time he's attacked, he goes hiding behind the robes of Professor Snape. Doing a petrifaction of the caretaker during the Halloween Feast requires planning, magical skill in the Dark Arts, subtlety and ruthlessness. All things this little blonde daddy-boy completely lacks or Longbottom and the Golden Trio would not succeed so many times in pranking him."

Her three friends studying with her not protesting this description, the Potter Heiress assumed her judgement of Draco Malfoy was not completely off the mark.

"He could still be aware of something." Objected Hermione, although her tone was not transpiring confidence.

"Or he is an idiot which doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." Indicated Alexandra, not bothering to hide which version she though the most likely. "Anyway, we're going to be rapidly fixed about this whole mess, I think."

"What do you mean?" Yep, Hermione was a very curious person. Who would have thought?

"There's a Quidditch match tomorrow, remember? If the person guilty of the attack wants to try again, he will put his plan in action then. All the Professors are assisting to the match, so the way is free at Hogwarts to prepare an evil plan or two."

"Then we have just to search the school during the match and arrest him in the act!"

"Absolutely not." Said Alexandra in a cold voice. "We have no information how Filch was turned into stone. We don't know how to counter it. If we try to apprehend the culprit, we could very well all die." Fighting a gigantic salamander of fire and darkness and escaping by pure dumb luck had been quite enough for the ongoing year, thank you very much. The Morrigan may have decreed Alexandra was to participate in a final battle, but the raven-haired witch doubted a prank reeking Dark Magic was it.

"But..."

"Let the Professors their chance to stop the Heir or whoever did the attack, Hermione." Said Morag. "We are students. The safety of Hogwarts is not in our domain of competences."

"Okay. And if they are more attacks? If the Professors fail to find the attacker?"

"Warn the Aurors and the Ministry." Answered Nigel.

"You aren't curious what happened on Halloween?"

"Of course we are curious, Hermione. It's just that we are Ravenclaws." Laughed Morag.

"Which means unlike the Gryffindors, we take the time to think, oh...thirty seconds before jumping into the action." Finished Alexandra. Before adding when Morag gave her an incredulous stare. "Some of us have more Gryffindor in us than we care to admit. Fine, trouble tends to find me wherever I go." The twelve-year old added, taking a sheepish expression.

"That I can very well believe." Grumbled Morag. Alexandra sent her a reproachful look. It was not her fault that a goddess had decided to invite herself to a Samhain ritual! She had not sent an invitation ticket for the Morrigan to appear! Twenty-four hours before Halloween-Samhain, Alexandra had no idea herself she was going to participate.

"So what do we do now?"

"Me, I'm going to finish this Astronomy chart of Saturn." Affirmed Alexandra. "After that, I have an appointment with Flitwick. I want to know if he can teach me swordsmanship."

Their Head of House had been forced to abandon their Duelling lessons under the fallacious pretext it would be too unfair for the other second-years of Hogwarts. But handling blades and other steel weapons had not been in the program for the last five decades. Of course Dumbledore would probably find another pretext in time. But the Headmaster was rarely present at the Head Table, and practically never seen in the corridors. It would take time for him to formulate an answer.

"That is going to fill your schedule." Warned with good humour Nigel.

"I will survive." Sighed Alexandra in a theatrical manner. "And if I have any time left, I will spend a moment praying that Longbottom and Malfoy kill themselves each other on the Pitch tomorrow, sending the Heir of Slytherin in the afterlife with them."

"Not going to happen. We need a Gryffindor to save the day at the end, remember?"

* * *

 **7 November 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The weather could be described as rainy when the two Quidditch teams entered the Pitch on Saturday morning. A less charitable observer could even have described the rains falling over the isolated Scottish land where Hogwarts stood as a true deluge. The spectators, students and teachers, were protected from the fury of the elements by the charmed stands which repelled the water. The players had not this chance. Progressing in the puddle of mud the stadium had become after the torrential rains of late October, the fourteen players and Professor Hooch were already drenched, and the match hadn't yet started. For the hundredth time, Alexandra wished the first matches of Quidditch were programmed in early October or in late November when snow replaced the heavy rains. Despite the many Warming and Impervious Charms casted, their place in the stands was not a pleasant place to be. Of course the Quidditch players were facing worse conditions, entering the stadium as the elements redoubled in intensity.

"Here comes the team of Gryffindor!" Shouted Lee Jordan who as usual commented the match, with Professor McGonagall keeping an eye on him. "Wood, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Longbottom! A very good team, who unlike some I could tell, doesn't choose his players by the size of their father's fortune..."

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor." The commentator's tone was showing no sign of worry or excuse. Which was fair, because as every student in Hogwarts knew, that was exactly how a blonde imbecile had won his place in the team. "Now here comes the team of Slytherin, led by Captain Marcus Flint. Montague and Pucey as Chasers, Bletchley as Keeper, Bole and Derrick as Beaters. Only change's from last year, Draco Malfoy has replaced Higgs. Sorry Terence. You deserved better than this slimy blonde to steal your place..."

"JORDAN!"

Finally, the teams of Gryffindor and Slytherin faced off each other in the middle of the terrain. It was all a symbol. The Slytherins, all massive and bulky with the exception of their Seeker Draco Malfoy. Each of the players under Marcus Flint had a flashing Nimbus 2001 in their hands. All were wearing the green and silver of their House. Like last year, there was no girl among the Slytherin players.

By contrast, the Gryffindors had three girls, who despite not being thin and small were quite making this very impression against the troll-featured Snakes. The Lion Captain, Oliver Wood, was not a monster of musculature either. As for the Weasley Twins, they were quite elongated compared to the green gorillas playing Beaters.

Professor Hooch went near the two captains, spoke a few words to encourage the two teams to play nicely, and then mounted her broom. One by one, the red and the green players imitated her, launching regards to their counterparts of the other side which in spite of the distance could be seen as particularly venomous.

One trill in the referee's whistle and fifteen brooms soared in the air, pursued by the two black Bludgers and the Chasers trying to pass the Quaffle between themselves.

"And here we go!" Shouted Jordan. "Bell who passes to Johnson, Johnson to Spinnet, Spinnet to Bell! Nice feint of Bell who tries to shoot...no! The Quaffle is intercepted by Pucey who gives to Montague, Montague passes Johnson and gives to Pucey again. Pucey races to the posts defended by Wood, he's so fast with his Nimbus 2001... Pucey scores! 10-0 for Slytherin!"

Like a single man, one quarter of the stands, covered in green and silver, stood up to celebrate the goal. A magical animation rose in the rain, a great snake planting his fangs in the throat of a dying lion. Faster than arrows, the seven members of the Slytherin Quidditch team made a lap of honour before taking back their positions.

"This is going to be a thrashing..." Groaned Nigel to the left of Alexandra. After a small moment of deliberation, he and Hermione had decided to sit with Morag, Alexandra and the rest of the Ravenclaw second-years. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were sporting red and gold banners, decorations and clothes today, therefore it was not a betrayal of their own House. On the other hand, Alexandra did not expect this very logic to reach the brains of the house supposed to be noble and the symbol of chivalry. Especially if Gryffindor lost the match.

"Flint avoids Bell and misses throwing Bell off her broom! Flint passes to Pucey, Pucey passes to Montague, Montague shoots and scores! 20-0 for Slytherin!"

"Have you seen that?" Asked Alexandra.

"What? Flint killing one of our Chasers?" Demanded bitterly Nigel. "Or the second goal of a long series we are about to receive?"

"No, I was speaking about Flint missing shattering the stands by inches."

"Yeah, I saw it." Said Morag. "He might have done it on purpose."

"Don't think so. Look!" Graham Montague had just narrowly avoided smashing on the Slytherin goal posts.

"They have problems with their speed and their braking." Realised Morag.

"Normal. We knew from the start of October skilled professional players had difficulties with the 2001. Flint and his band of bullies are many things, but they are not professionals."

The next ten minutes of the game proved her assumption right. The formations of the Slytherins were becoming more and more erratic. For all their training during September and October, the House of the cunning and the ambitious had not played a match in real conditions before this and now they had major difficulties controlling their world-class brooms against the skilled Gryffindor girls playing Chasers. Adrian Pucey marked another goal, but Angelina of Johnson answered one minute later by a feint which left Miles Bletchley without reaction. The score was now 30-10 for Slytherin.

Just as three-quarters of the Quidditch stadium began to wonder if Gryffindor was going to counter the play of their opponents, all the eyes went into the direction of Neville Longbottom. The Gryffindor Seeker had until this point contented to search for the Snitch and ignore the loud mockeries of his Slytherin counterpart, but this strategy was destroyed as one of the Bludgers was now focusing on the Boy-Who-Lived and ignoring all the other players.

Immediately, one of the Weasley Twins tried to intercept the Bludger but his efforts turned out to be insufficient for the challenge he was asked for. The red-haired Beater managed to protect Longbottom, but only barely, soon forcing his Twin to come helping him. The Slytherins, now at six against four, did not leave this opportunity pass and marked three new goals by the intermediary of Flint and Pucey. Oliver Wood called for a time-out. The score was now 60-10 for Slytherin.

"The Slytherins have tampered this Bludger." Affirmed Morag. "What does Wood wait to declare a tie?"

"There's a rule for Bludgers targeting a single player?" Asked Alexandra, regretting the words just as they left her mouth. Of course Quidditch had a rule like that! This was a sport which had had to officially ban decapitation of an opponent with a broadsword! Or an axe. Or a club. Or...the more she thought about it, Quidditch fanatics were really...fanatics.

"You have not read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , haven't you?" Morag rhetorically replied. "Tampering a Bludger happens all the time in League competitions. Most of the time, it's bloodthirsty supporters who are responsible and good luck to find the culprits in the stands. The thousands of witches and wizards gathered are staying tight-lipped."

"All right. So Wood should have called to replay the match another time with a normal Bludger?"

"Yeah. Or opened an inquiry. I mean, the one who enchanted this Bludger did a sloppy job. The Bludger has become predictable, no matter what happens, he goes after Longbottom."

"No subtlety, just brute force. Like Flint."

"Look, the Gryffindors are mounting their brooms again. They intend to continue playing."

"That's...insane." Said Alexandra, not adding loudly 'like this entire school'. "With a Bludger constantly on him, Longbottom can't catch the Snitch."

"They must have figured a new strategy." Said Hermione, who had stopped reading her book and now watched with worry the drama unfolding in the air.

"I hope for them it's a good one." Said Nigel in a dark tone. "Or we are going to assist to Longbottom's funeral."

As it happened, the Gryffindor new tactic was outright insane. Fred and George Weasley stopped protecting Longbottom, and now the Boy-Who-Lived rushed into the heart of the Slytherin formations, beginning the massacre. With their high speeds and deficient Braking Charms, the Slytherins were unable to adapt to this new tactic on the fly. After thirty seconds, Marcus Flint took the uncontrollable Bludger in the arm, before colliding with Bole and being thrown off several four feet high in the mud. Not a minute later, Bole followed him, the shock he had just taken making him an easy prey for the other Bludger everyone seemed to have forgotten. In the chaos, Katie Bell took the Quaffle and marked two goals. 60-30 for Slytherin.

Things in the event grew tenser for the Boy-Who-Lived. The Bludger was still pursuing him, and was now shining of a blue electric light which augured nothing good. Impression confirmed when one of the Weasley Twins try to give Longbottom a moment of relief, struck the Bludger... and took a sort of magical shock such that he slowly plummeted to the ground, out of the game. To make matters more dangerous, the Bludger was now a corona of blue energy. Whoever was going to be hit next would be definitely in a world of pain.

The other players still in the game took the fall of the Gryffindor seriously and now rushed quickly away from the Bludger of doom and his intended victim, disrupting the play a bit further. Angelina Johnson marked twice, and Adrian Pucey once. 70-50 for Slytherin, which was losing most of its initial lead.

The only player who had a lot of fun in this... unanticipated Quidditch massacre was Draco Malfoy. With one of the Bludgers trying its best to murder his Gryffindor counterpart, the Slytherin Seeker made laps of honour over the Pitch, insulting Neville Longbottom when he passed near him, making grandiose gestures in direction of the Slytherin stands, his parents, the League recruiters who had made the travel today. A lot of things all considered, except one. He wasn't looking for the Golden Snitch.

"Once an idiot, always an idiot." Said Morag who had remarked the same thing. "Too bad for Slytherin. They had an occasion to win the match by a large margin and Malfoy is squandering it away."

Unfortunately for Slytherin, they had not the time to deal with their Seeker doing anything but his job. Flint out of the game, a new Chaser from the reserve had taken his place, his name being Cassius Warrington. Alexandra had heard of him before. Blonde-haired and with the physic of an ugly bull, Warrington was a fourth-year well known for being an ardent partisan of the pure-blood ideology. His family, the Ancient House of Warrington was known to have counted some Death Eaters in his ranks and though Cassius wasn't the Heir, he still had a sizeable income waiting for him once he finished Hogwarts. Good for him, because his grades at school were not stellar.

To go back to Quidditch matters, Warrington looked about as swift as the previously mentioned bull, and was now spreading trouble, as he, Pucey and Montague debated who had to become interim captain in Flint's absence. As the Lions were clearly not going to stop the game and leave them the time to discuss it, the outcome of the match was turning against them. Each of the Gryffindors had now made one more goal. 80-70 for Gryffindor, and the Keeper Bletchley was now shouting for help as his Chasers abandoned him against the offensive of the Gryffindor girls.

The rain was not falling harder, and the visibility fell further as the sky was now completely dark without a ray of light to lighten the scene. In these conditions, flying on broomsticks became extremely dangerous, a point confirmed by the loud rumble of thunder in the distance. The Snitch had to be caught, the sooner the better.

Alas, this awareness completely escaped one of the two persons charged of this task. Draco Malfoy was now concentrated in mocking Longbottom and doing little else, simulating and showing-off the prowess of his broom, unaware or uncaring his teammates were in the process of being laminated by Gryffindor. The arrogant pure-blood was in fact so concentrated on the Boy-Who-Lived he didn't even notice the gold streak flashing behind him!

"The Snitch is behind him!" Morag shouted, more expressive in everything Quidditch-related.

Neville Longbottom had also seen it, despite being pursued by a murderous Bludger and gave all the power of his Nimbus 2000 to rush towards Malfoy. The Slytherin, not understanding the full picture, made a roll to avoid the imminent collision and raced away, believing his rival wanted to get rid of him. As a result, it offered the Golden Snitch to the Boy-Who-Lived on a platter.

The Gryffindor Seeker did not have the time to celebrate his victory, though. Normal Bludgers had enchantments which normally forced them to return to their boxes once the referee signalled the end of the match, but this Bludger hadn't got the memo. It slammed into Neville Longbottom, who by chance had stopped his pursuit one foot over the ground, and the Gryffindor Seeker was propelled in the mud. The black object of mass destruction was about to make a second passage to kill Longbottom, when a Blasting Hex from Professor Hooch pulverised the ball in fragments.

Neville Longbottom looked like he had an arm broken, but his valid one held the tiny golden ball. And that meant...

"Longbottom has caught the Snitch!" Shouted Lee Jordan, who like the rest of the audience had not foreseen the match ending like this. "230-70! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

A majority the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students in the stands stood up and screamed their joy to the heavens. Many began to dance, sing or do whatever they did in such cases: launching fireworks, sounding trumpets and so on. The Slytherins stands, however, were deathly silent. The rainfalls now completely forbid watching any individual face, but there was a sea of consternation here, sure as the weather was wet. Near the teachers stand, she saw the families of many Slytherin players who had assisted to the match now leave in a hurry, as if they were worried the shame of the defeat was contagious.

On the ground, there was a commotion where Longbottom had landed, involving a Gilderoy Lockhart who was beaten in a bloody pulp by several furious Gryffindors. Alexandra wondered what this pompous fraud had done now, before dismissing him from her thoughts and preparing to leave the Pitch, a not very endearing proposal as the rain was now worse than ever.

"I was right, you know." Morag said with humour as Hermione first prepared to descend the stairs of the tribunes to go back to Hogwarts. "One Gryffindor saved the day at the end."


	30. Mandrakes and Unpaid Debts

**Chapter 30**

 **Mandrakes and Unpaid Debts**

 **14 November 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"Okay. What the bloody hell do we do know?" Asked Morag, twirling some strands of her red hair around her finger.

"Language!" Chided Hermione.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't a point." Alexandra remarked, raising her head over the Charms essay she had just passed the last half-hour on.

"Of course, she has. One adult, one cat and two children petrified, and none of the teachers have the least idea who's responsible in the first place." Enounced Hermione. "I think it's time we change our strategy and properly investigate."

Hermione, Morag, Nigel and Alexandra were once more assembled in the room formerly belonging to the decades-defunct Fan-Club of the Tutshill Tornados. The tables and the chairs had been repaired, the dust thrown out of the room and most of the rusty wardrobes moved into another abandoned piece. The old-fashioned banners had been given to other Quidditch fanatics, replaced by new ones where two eagles and two lions were quartered to form a single banner. The windows had been cleaned and repaired, giving an excellent view on the frozen Black Lake. It was beginning to be a comfortable place for the headquarters of their group for sure. Although with the last events how many months they would be able to use it remained an excellent question.

"The problem," said Morag while massaging her forehead, "is that the situation hasn't changed that much from before the Quidditch match. We have still no idea how the attacker petrified Colin Creevey and Riley Frazer. We have no idea how much time he needs to plan an attack."

"It's true, but I think we can make certain assumptions." Replied Alexandra. "First, I think we can all agree the culprit is targeting people who according to the purity of blood ideology have no place at Hogwarts: squibs, Muggle-borns and students having insufficient magical ancestry."

It was no great feat of logic. Colin Creevey and Riley Frazer had been two of the most high-profile Muggle-borns in first-year, due to their unfortunate tendency to annoy everyone with their flash-stunning photos. Any person espousing the blood ideology would have put them at the top of his or her target list.

"Agreed." Hermione said vehemently. The librarian-in-chief of their group had become even more distrustful of any ideology sprouting blood-purity of late. And her Ravenclaw friends didn't blame her at all.

"Secondly, the attacker is taking great care to petrify his victims at places where no portrait, no door guardian or anything which could give the alert is present." Alexandra passed her left hand in her black hair. "Given the circumstances, it implies the person who is behind all this has an excellent knowledge of the castle and its security system."

"Yes, and the third point?"

"Whoever and however it is done, the attacks are terrifyingly quick." Affirmed Alexandra in a tone where no sarcasm or irony was present. "In both cases when the alarms sounded, there was a Professor present less than five minutes near the victims. And there was no evidence save the victims on the crime scene."

"Sure," Morag's visage was showing an expression best qualified as dubitative. "But beating Filch and Mrs Norris isn't exactly difficult if you know a bit of offensive magic. Creevey and Frazer were first-years, so they weren't exactly difficult to defeat either. An advanced first-year who knows a few curses could have neutralised them in short order."

The black-haired young witch wanted to open her mouth and contradicted her fellow Ravenclaw but found that she couldn't. The two Gryffindors had constantly their cameras around their necks or in position of photographing something. It would hardly require a Duellist Master to squash them. So far as the Potter Heiress knew, there was nothing which indicated the two Lions had even tried to grab their wands.

Mrs Norris was a cat, the main defence the animal had was the litany of detentions any attacker would receive after the caretaker threatened them with torture sessions. Last and least, certifiable rumours had confirmed Filch was indeed a squib. A simple Petrificus Totalus was able to petrify him for hours; and no, Alexandra really didn't want to know how the Weasley Twins had made this discovery.

"So we are back to phase one?" Asked rhetorically Nigel with a glum face...

Alexandra was forced to nod positively. With most of the Professors fleeing in the other direction when anyone asked something which might be related to the Chamber of Secrets - Binns was the exception, as the ghost still refused its existence with all the strength of his ghostly spirit - any breakthrough was nearly impossible to accomplish.

"Yes...and no." Affirmed Morag pensively. "I may have obtained a few clues from the gossips."

"Do tell!" Ordered Hermione immediately, confirming unwillingly the bushy-haired girl had much in common with Lavender Brown the Gossips' Queen than she wanted to admit.

"Professor Sprout intends to use a good part of the Mandrake leaves to cure the petrifaction of Frazer and the others."

"I knew that." Huffed Hermione, apparently disappointed to have learnt nothing new to indulge her curiosity.

"Ah, but did you know this year Professor Sprout bought a lot of no less than fifty mandrakes? Unlike the other years where she bought one or two per semester at most?"

Alexandra suddenly became pale and she wasn't the only one. Nigel's visage had also become livid. Only Hermione was fixing Morag with what seemed to be incomprehension.

"I don't understand..."

"What Morag seems to imply," Said Alexandra in a dark tone. "Is that the powers-that-be at Hogwarts knew that for one reason or another they would need a lot of Mandrakes this year. In other words that they knew the attacks were going to happen beforehand."

"That's insane!" Exclaimed Hermione.

"So is Hogwarts in general." Sighed Alexandra. "I suppose you have reliable sources to support this...extravagant theory?" She asked directly to Morag.

"Yes." Affirmed the red-haired Ravenclaw. "While House MacDougal doesn't make business with House Selwyn - they're the leaders in the market of the Potions ingredients," she added when Alexandra raised an eyebrow, "we are allied with House Slughorn who are their main competitors and monitor their main commands. And in August, Hogwarts passed an order to House Selwyn of fifty Mandrakes for their greenhouses."

"It might still be a complete coincidence." Grumbled Hermione Granger, passing her nerves on her poor owl quill. The writing instrument wasn't going to work well after such a treatment.

"Perhaps or perhaps not." Try as she might, the Potter Heiress didn't see anything in their courses which might require this expenditure. They had studied the Mandrakes in Herbology, and the Potions from first to seventh year using them required one or two leaves. A plant or two was explainable. A lot of fifty was not. "Professor Sprout told us several times this year and the last the greenhouse earns money for the school. Not only that, but it supplies freely around one-thirds of all the Potions supplies for an entire year. There are some seeds they need to command because of the novelties and the regulations, but that's all. How much is worth a Mandrake apiece? "

"At the price of the market, my parents told me it was around twenty-seven Galleons each." Replied the MacDougal Heiress, reading the information on a parchment looking like a familial letter.

Fifty Mandrakes by twenty-seven gave a total purchase of one thousand three hundred and fifty Galleons. A rapid mental calculus and the last free member of House Potter arrived to the impressive number of twenty-five thousand six hundred and fifty pounds. Watching the bushy-haired Gryffindor, the green-eyed witch knew she had arrived to the same result.

"Still believe it's a coincidence, Hermione?"

"Err..." The huge sum left for an instant the Gryffindor girl speechless.

"No, it's not a coincidence, Alexandra." Told Nigel in a voice which was different from his usual timid one. "And there's another thing you've not noticed. We are speaking about how mature Mandrakes are needed to bring back the petrified victims back to normal, right?

"Yes..." She said, not realising where Nigel wanted to go to.

"Then why aren't Professor Dumbledore and the teachers buying mature ones immediately? The potion to brew can't be that difficult for a Potions Master like Snape, isn't it? One month at worst, and the professors know who has attacked the students. The only reason why they wouldn't do it is... "

"They already know who is responsible for the attacks...or at least they have a strong suspicion." Finished Hermione in a weak voice.

For a moment, everyone around the table looked at each other, trying to digest the implications of that news. Finally, Alexandra chose to break the silence.

"You could be right, Nigel. On the other hand, ordering non-mature Mandrakes in August and not buying mature ones don't require a massive Professor conspiracy to exist."

"In that case why are the Professors not talking to us?"

"Because the Vows they took when they were hired prevent them to talk to us about such matters." Revealed Morag. "There's no need to be a massive conspiracy inside Hogwarts. You only need one person to do all this."

"The one who's sitting in the Headmaster seat?" Asked Nigel, with a resignation suggesting he knew already the answer.

"Yep. The one sitting in the Headmaster's seat when he's not busy running to the Wizengamot and the ICW meetings." The presence of Dumbledore at Hogwarts had not increased since last year. If anything, it seemed to have slightly decreased. Unsurprisingly, doing three jobs at the same time was time-consuming.

There was a new moment where no one dared speaking, Alexandra finishing her Charms homework, Hermione her Astronomy chart and Nigel working with Morag on Potions preparations. This time it was Morag who raised her head to start anew the conversation.

"Well at least we have a clue. To know Mandrakes cure the victims, there must have been an incident at Hogwarts in the past."

"Yes, but Hogwarts is a thousand years old." Complained Hermione.

"No need to go back that far." Said Morag, playing absently with her hair strands. "It must have happened while Dumbledore was present. But I'm not sure if he was student or Professor when it happened."

"Only a hundred years or so of Daily Prophet archives to search. Joy." Sarcastically commented Alexandra. "Oh, no need to make me the big eyes, Morag. I'll do it." The MacDougal Heiress had indeed begun to glance suggestively at her. "But it's going to take me a good time to find what we search. Assuming we're right, it could have happened anytime between the 1880s and the 1980s."

"Okay. In the mean time, I will search any artefact, spell or monster having the capacity to petrify its victims." Assured Hermione. "That's pretty...vague, when you think of it."

"Do what you can, Hermione. In any cases, if the Heir continues on the same attack schedule, there are going to be more victims before we manage to the clues we need."

"By Merlin I hope not." Whispered Morag. Louder, she added: "Have you seen how Hogwarts students react?"

The four second-years all grimaced as they ranged their essays, ink, quills and parchments. The attacks on Creevey and Frazer had sounded the opening phase of a true atmosphere of fear at Hogwarts. Muggle-borns and Half-Bloods students were now only travelling in pack, seeking safety in numbers. The air abounded with horror tales and suspicions of who was behind the attacks. When the teachers were nowhere in sight, older students sold items and talismans supposed to protect the younger from evil influences. Nigel had considered buying some during a class break, before Morag and Alexandra convinced him that an evil-smelling onion, no matter how disgusting and dirty, was unlikely to deter a force which attacked adults and children indifferently.

In this less than perfect autumn, the winners were undoubtedly the Gryffindors. The Lions had won the Quidditch game against Slytherin and took as a result a good option on the Cup, but they had also obtained an alibi for their famed Seeker Neville Longbottom. When Creevey and Frazer were attacked, the Boy-Who-Lived was in the infirmary and unconscious, courtesy of the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart who had vanished all the bones of his left arm. The others members of the Golden Trio were under the eyes of the whole Gryffindor House during the party in their tower. Longbottom, Black and Weasley, unless they had the skill to be at two different places at the same time, were not responsible for this aggression. Why would they have attacked two of their minions willing to take their word as gold by the way?

As the Gryffindors were under the radar of suspicion in the short-term, the Ravens, the Badgers and the Lions were progressively rallying to the opinion of influential teenagers like the Weasley Twins, Lee Jordan and by a strange coincidence, Neville Longbottom. In their opinion, the pure-blood bigots were accomplices of the Heir of Slytherin; or at the very least tolerated him and hid him in their ranks. The attack on two Muggle-born first-years was pure revenge for Slytherin having lost the Quidditch match, a sign House Slytherin would stop at nothing to punish any who dared opposing them in public. The Gryffindor theories were frankly full of holes and played on a lot of prejudices. But it was working. Slytherin had never been a House which had a Light reputation in the last months or years, and now they had just been handed an ultimatum in good and due form.

Alexandra was sure it had been a hard and difficult decision. First choice, letting a band of idiots and blood-purists like Draco Malfoy fall in the hands of the mob led by the infamous Weasley terrors and the renowned Golden Trio. Five students, who by a strange coincidence, held an astonishing record of attacking, vilipending, pranking and insulting everything the Slytherins valued, believed and worked for. Boys who had made no secret the contempt they felt for the traditions and the culture the Snakes were ready to defend. Second choice, make common front and force the Gryffindors to come to them, an attack against a member of Slytherin House being an attack against all the inhabitants of the dungeons. What a terrible dilemma. If the members of Slytherin House had hesitated for more than thirty seconds, Alexandra would have been deeply astonished.

"Do you think the Heir will strike again during the next Quidditch match at the end of the month?" Asked Hermione as they left their meeting room and went in the direction of the library to give back the borrowed books they had taken earlier in the morning.

"Maybe." Said pensively Morag. "It depends on the safety measures the teachers will have put in place, I suppose."

"I have not seen any of them placing spells or wards to do that!" Said worriedly Nigel.

"Like Morag said," joked Alexandra. "Depends on the-"

MEEEEOOOOOWWWWW!

A big ginger cat raced out a corridor on the group's right and jumped in Hermione's arms.

"I wonder why you chose to buy this cat for Hermione." Said Morag with a faint smile at the corner of her lips. "It certainly was not for his obedience to orders."

"Hey, I told him to stay in the dormitories of the girls!" Exclaimed Hermione.

"I'm sure you did." Replied Morag. The unsaid sentence of the red-haired Ravenclaw was left in the open: Crookshanks did everything he wanted with his mistress.

 _Maybe the cats are the true masters of this world..._ thought with amusement the witch who had offered said 'present'. The smile didn't last as the appearance of the out-of-bounds half-Kneazle was revealed.

"Look at Crookshanks fur." Said Alexandra. The enormous gingerer half-Kneazle had several dark traces on his pelage, and was now purring in relief in the arms of his mistress.

"These are..."

"Marks of spell fire. Yes." Said Alexandra in a sinister tone. "Looks like someone-" she pronounced the last word with a good dose of fury, "-thought it was funny to attack a cat."

"But how did they do it? It is impossible for boys to come in the girls dorms!"

"A girl was involved?" For a boy belonging not renowned for his wits, Nigel sometimes had a gift to jump to the most likely option.

Loud shouts and screams in the distance interrupted what promised to be an interesting debate on the morals of the girls belonging to Gryffindor House.

"What are you going to do?" Asked Morag in a concerned voice, watching Alexandra draw her wand from her holster and give her school robes to Nigel.

"What I should have done from the start." The Potter Heiress replied. "The Lions have been left to their own devices and let free to do everything they want in Hogwarts by the Professors, and now the punishments of Snape aren't enough to stop them."

"You know they are going to be a lot of them, right?" Asked Nigel clearly concerned.

"Yes." Alexandra winced. "But they will always outnumber us, unless you think we can convince all Ravenclaw House to follow us?" Morag grimaced, but didn't answer drawing her wand in turn. It was not worth it. Alexandra's reputation might not be anywhere near the abyss it was in first-year, it was still a fairly dark one. The chances of any sizeable number of house mates following her were close to non-existent. Morag however chose to give her school bag to Nigel and followed her. Then with a silent goodbye to the two other members of their group, Morag and Alexandra rushed in the corridor Crookshanks had come from.

Hermione and Nigel couldn't go, and the two Ravenclaw girls knew it. If it had been Slytherins who had attacked Crookshanks, all would have been simpler. The possibility of some Snakes girls fighting their way through the Common Room in Gryffindor tower sadly was ridiculous in the extreme. Gryffindors were most likely responsible for the sounds of fighting Alexandra were hearing, and giving an opportunity to the most extreme elements of the Lions to expulse Hermione and Nigel from their ranks would be bad.

They were almost to the stairs leading to a section of the sixth floor, when they came face to face with the persons charged to mount guard. Before any word could be spoken, the students in front of them passed to the attack, confirmation that whatever was producing the screams and noises they heard, it was definitely not something approved by the chart of Hogwarts.

"Furnunculus! Furnunculus!" Screamed a Gryffindor Alexandra recognised as Seamus Finnigan. What got out of his wand, alas for him, was not the double standard Pimple Jinx but a small explosion which left a dark trace on the wall and damaged a painting of a monk emptying barrels of wine, forcing its occupant to a precipitated retreat.

"Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!"Countered Alexandra. The sandy-haired boy watched with stupefaction his wand being torn from his grasp, before taking the Body-Bind straight in the face, falling on his back and ropes coming from nowhere to bind him.

The other boy, to his side, who Alexandra recognised as Dean Thomas, was more intelligent and tried to escape after having cast a "Cantis!" which missed...only to take a well-adjusted Petrificus Totalus in the back from Morag.

"Nice spell chain." Smiled Morag, as Alexandra picked up the wands of their defeated opponents.

"I practise a lot." Bowed Alexandra in a manner Flitwick had taught her to insult the quality of the adversaries just proposed. "Now let's see what going on..."

Turning the last corner between them and the screams, the two Heiresses emerged in the middle of a battlefield. There was no other word to describe the situation. There were traces of spell damage on the wall, the columns, the paintings, the armours which were the norm near an access to the stairs were showing signs of having endured a magical storm. Two of the armours had pieces of metal sprawled across the floor.

But the worst part were the bodies. All were students bearing the emblem of House Slytherin, and all looked like they had been cursed with gay abandon.

"Greengrass, Zabini, Davies, Baddock, Crabbe and Higgs." Said Morag in a clear voice. Too loud a voice apparently, as the noises and the screams ceased. They had been heard.

Gregory Goyle was sprawled on the first marches, unconscious. Below them in the lower part of the stairs, they were about twenty-plus Gryffindors, from first to fifth-years students. Leading them was of course the Golden Trio...pointing their wands in turn towards two first-years who were none other than Astoria Greengrass and Lyre de Male-Foi. And of course the rest of the Gryffindor were encircling the great, the magnificent, the Blonde Prince Draco Malfoy himself. By the looks of it, the younger Greengrass girl had tried to protect her fellow first-year and took the brunt of a minimum of several dozen hexes and jinxes. The platinum hair of the pure-blood, usually perfect like those of her older sister, were cursed and scorched, she was bleeding profusely from the nose and one of her arm. And her efforts had been vain, because the youngest Malfoy was in a state nearly approaching her last protector. Several gashes were bleeding from her face and forearms. The first-year Slytherin had let her wand fall, and was now curled up on the corner, waiting for the beating to end.

They were in a better state than Draco Malfoy. The pampered pure-blood so prompt to cry 'wait until my father hears of this' was on his knees in the centre of the crowd with deep gashes and plenty of curses symptoms. His hair had been turned brown-red, his forehead and cheeks were covered in pustules. Judging by the attitude of the Lions, this had been just the beginning of the punishment.

"What in the name of Sauron do you think you're doing, Longbottom?" Asked Alexandra in a cold voice. "Are you aware of a little thing called Article Nine of the Hogwarts Charter?"

Honestly, the Ravenclaw doubted the scion of the Most noble and Ancient House did. The neutrality and apolitical stance the elite of the Wizarding World was supposed to respect in the prestigious school had been badly compromised in the last two decades.

"Ah, Potter, MacDougal. Nice to meet you too." Said a muscled boy with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Leave and let us deal with these slimy snakes!" Snarled the too-infamous voice of Ronald Weasley. "No one wants you here, Dark Spawn!"

Alexandra contemplated a moment the scene, which had become deathly silent, punctuated only by the cries of pain coming from Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass and Lyre de Male-Foi. The Lions in the lower part of the stairs showed no visible remorse for their actions, that much was limpid from their faces. All had diverse aggressive postures, with one or two still pointing their wands towards the three Slytherins, in spite of the fact they represented no danger anymore. They were not students or teenagers in a school quarrel. They were a crowd ready to beat down their enemies.

"So that's what the name Gryffindor has become synonym to." Alexandra told dejectedly. "A band of courageous warriors so proud of their nobility and courage they attack disarmed students with an advantage of ten against one. Godric Gryffindor must roll in his grave."

"Shut up!" Shouted a black-haired Gryffindor, whose name totally escaped the second-year witch. "We know your father was a Death Eater! You want to help your snaky friends? You want to take the Dark Mark as soon as you graduate?"

"I will pretend I have not just heard the last sentences you just spoke." Said Alexandra.

"Why, because I said the truth?" Said the Gryffindor, looking very pleased with himself.

"Because else I would challenge you to an Honour Duel on the spot." Declared the Potter Heiress in a very ugly grimace.

"But Honour Duels are..." Said a livid third-year.

"To the death, yes." Finished Morag. "But the accusation that a Noble Heiress belongs to a terrorist organisation whose obvious goals are pure-blood supremacy and mass extermination of the Muggles is largely grounds to call for one."

"No need to go that far!" Shouted Neville Longbottom, who had until now stayed silent but was obviously the leader of this raid as the whispers and back-talks stopped instantly.

"Go to the library or your Common Room and forget it ever took place. I call for the debt House Potter owes to Longbottom." His voice had taken the authority and the persuasion of a high-ranked politician or administrator with a mellowing tone for good measure, and for a second Alexandra admitted Neville Longbottom knew how the game was played, though it raised an interesting question how he wasn't a member of House Slytherin.

"No."

"What, no?" Said with incredulity Longbottom. "House Potter..."

"...owes something to House Longbottom for the treason of Lord James Potter, I perfectly agree. But as Heiress of the Most Ancient House of Potter, I have the duty and the liberty to choose the time and place to repay this debt." Alexandra looked with disdain to the gathered Gryffindors. "Helping the soon-to-be Lord of House Longbottom and his band of joyous bullies to escape the consequences of their own actions when they brutalised two young girls is not how I will do it. I want to be able to see myself in a mirror tomorrow, thank you very much."

"You will not get away with this." Snarled the Boy-Who-Lived, all pleasantry evaporated from his face.

"Unless you manage to convince two-thirds of the Wizengamot of the contrary, I am going to get away with this." Affirmed Alexandra in a low tone she ended by a smirk. "Unless you think Lord Malfoy, Lord Greengrass, Lady Zabini and a few others are going to thanks you when they learn you have deliberately attacked their Heirs and Heiresses?"

Saying this had an interesting effect on the group of Gryffindors behind the Boy-Who-Lived. Three or four suddenly looked very hesitant, including Lavender Brown and a few other girls, as if they ultimately realised how far they had overstepped the limits...and how disastrous the political consequences were going to be. The others, largely the boys, tightened their fists around their wands and looked at her with expression of fury and hate. Like Brown, Dunbar and Holmes, they realised their acts were pretty damning but unlike the girls, they had arrived to the reasoning that if they were going to be punished, there was absolutely no reason to add two lone Ravenclaw to the list of casualties.

Typically, it was Ron Weasley who sounded the beginning of the carnage.

"Veru Limax!"

"Ventus!"

"Cantis!"

"Tarentellagra!"

"Ebublio!"

"Langlock!"

"Tempestas! Melofors!"

"Flipendo! Flipendo!

"Vermillious! Rictusempra!"

It went without saying neither Morag nor Alexandra stayed in place to take the torrent of spells rushing like an avalanche towards them. Alexandra casted an "Expelliarmus Tria!" as with the sheer mass of bodies downstairs, it was impossible to miss hitting someone and Morag added to her efforts a "Chiroptera Nauseam!" who struck Leo Black head-on and his bogeys turned into nasty green bats which crawled out of his nose. Berk.

The mass exchange of spells continued for half a minute. With the two Ravenclaw Heiresses occupying the high ground and only a single stair to reach them, the Gryffindors faced a very disadvantageous tactical situation. They did not made it better by rushing like bulls without coordination, or by standing where they were, dismissing evasion and dodging as beneath them. Two older students were holding blue, circular-shaped magical shields which protected them from the hexes, jinxes and charms Alexandra sent them, but it was not invincible, as Morag shattering the shields with a blue explosion when she casted "Expulso!" and sending them unconscious against a wall proved it.

That was not to say Morag and Alexandra were holding well against the onslaught. Despite having sent six or seven students out of the fight for the time being, they were still a dozen or so Lions sending a barrage of spells against them, and it was sadly evident their organisation was far more experienced than the one Alexandra had with Morag. The opposition was not Ravenclaws who passed their free time in the library on the other side this time. These were Gryffindors, a House whose tendency to draw their wands first and think of the problems it caused later. To make the matters worse, they knew an impressive array of spells, both conventional and non-conventional. Alexandra prided herself into knowing more than one hundred and forty offensive curses, jinxes and hexes to fight in a school battle like this one, but some of the ray of lights, the ball of fires, ice and thunder which she was targeted with, she had never heard or seen them before. Morag took a wound in her wand arm when the splinters of the railings exploded inches away from her, and Alexandra nearly took a sort of white beam which erupted mere seconds after in ice shards. An instant later, she felt a violent pain in her right arm. Launching her most powerful spells in close succession became increasingly taxing, and Alexandra felt she was moments away from collapsing when the spell inferno from downstairs stopped.

Approaching the now severely bombarded balustrade, Alexandra glanced below and the reason of the fight ending became obvious. Professor Snape was there, flanked by Marcus Flint and Graham Montague. In all her memories of over one year and a half, Alexandra couldn't remember having seen the Potions Master looking so enraged. Not even when Leo Black had called him "Snivellus" in front of the Great Hall. His black robes were not billowing this time, but the pure expression of murder and the dark aura which emanated from him felt like a wind of darkness and rage on Alexandra's skin. At the moment, he was looking at the dispersed Gryffindors like one regarded dragon dung under the boots. The Senior Potions Professor didn't speak one word, like he didn't trust himself what would leave his mouth when he would open it.

Helping Morag stand on her legs and walk, Alexandra put her wand on her holster and began her descent of the ruined stairs. Older Slytherin students were in the process of putting Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass and Lyre de Male-Foi, all thankfully unconscious, on stretchers. Said hospital devices were levitated and went in the direction of the infirmary. Older students from Hufflepuff and Slytherin climbed the stairs to go help those who had been left unconscious there.

Once they had approached the Professor, Snape flickered his wand and the minor wounds on Morag and Alexandra began to heal and the pain went away. The two girls began to breathe easier and more regularly.

"Potter. MacDougal. Explain." The voice of Professor Snape was barely a murmur, but it was more than enough to understand a well of rage was just waiting to be unleashed.

Throwing a glance to Morag, Alexandra gulped and started to explain how they had heard Crookshanks fleeing and followed the sounds of battle to arrive there, pausing to wait Morag to confirm it, which the red-haired Ravenclaw did. Both omitted to say Hermione and Nigel had been with them, and Alexandra also 'forgot' to tell Longbottom had tried to make her go away using a political manoeuvre, but what was left of their report was more than enough to establish a first idea of the incident.

"Very well." Said Professor Snape, in a tone which seemed too calm to be real. "Fifty points each to Ravenclaw for protecting fellow students in danger, Miss MacDougal and Potter. And fifty points each for having the courage to stand up to a group of older and more numerous students."

"Miss Farley, escort these two girls to the infirmary. They suffer from magical exhaustion and I want Madam Pomfrey to examine them."

"Of course, Professor." Said a sixth-year Slytherin girl with a Prefect insignia and long brown hair and black eyes. "I will accompany them." She took three steps back, letting the magical stretchers carrying Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle pass, before giving a sign of the hand to the two second-years to follow her.

"Should not we go to the infirmary too?" Complained the older blonde-hair and blue-eyed Gryffindor of later, who was busy vomiting slugs on the floor. Weird, Alexandra didn't remember having launched the infamous 'Slug Vomit' curse.

"McLaggen." Thundered Professor Snape. "If you weren't such a dunderhead, you would shut. Your. Mouth. NOW!" The Potion Masters ended with a roar. McLaggen immediately shut his mouth for two seconds...before vomiting a new batch of slugs on the floor.

"I am going to go directly to the Headmaster asking for your expulsion, all of you!" He continued in a tone which was so furious it could have frozen Hell over.

"Now let's begin. A thousand points from Gryffindor for a vicious and unprovoked attack on fellow students, detentions until the end of the year for all of you..."

"Maybe this will teach them a lesson." Said the Slytherin Prefect in a satisfied tone, as their little group marched in the direction of the infirmary.

"No, it won't." Replied Morag in a sad tone.

In the privacy of her mind, Alexandra agreed. Unless the Heir of Slytherin was found and all the Gryffindors having participated in the attack were expulsed, things had probably gone too far at Hogwarts. Maybe a bit of calm would be brought back. Maybe. But events had moved too close to full-scale warfare to avoid the problems.

What the castle needed was a man available to all the students and strictly impartial. The Leader of the Light Party, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, was not that man. The Professors, with one or two exceptions, were not these men and women, assuming they would be free to intervene. Much less as she wanted to assist to this, Alexandra wondered if these were the first stones announcing the imminent fall of an edifice.

 **15 November 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The sun had long set over the Forbidden Forest and the Scottish mountains. There were now only the small lights of the village of Hogsmeade in the distance visible from the Headmaster office. Inside the room, the only sources of lights came from the fire of the chimney, two candles, the silver instruments on the Headmaster's desk and the Phoenix Fawkes. It was giving a sort of solemn ambience, strangely appropriate considering the reasons of this meeting.

The four Head of Houses rarely met together with the Headmaster during a normal school year at Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore had obviously a very busy schedule, which could not be modified by every petty prank or minor disturbance. Once or twice a month, an issue required the Headmaster to meet with one of his main subordinates face-to-face. Sometimes to require some additional funding for their department. Other occasions included awful academic grades of a student, the need to demote a Prefect from his position or discussing possible Masteries and Apprenticeships for a promising teenager among others. Rarely, once per semester, it happened several Head of Houses were summoned at the same time to an exceptional meeting in private with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. But these meetings were just that: exceptional. Barring extraordinary circumstances, the only gatherings the Heads of House Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw officially discussed their grievances and supports together were at the beginning and end of the year in sessions which were planned long in advance. Otherwise, each of the four Senior Professors had in general very good latitude to deal with any problems which might arise in a building concentrating four hundred-plus children, teenager and young adults.

The issue, no matter what each of the participants was prepared to admit outside this room, was that these 'extraordinary' meetings had skyrocketed so much in frequency these last two years they were in the process of becoming a regular event. It wouldn't have bothered so much Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw, former Duellist Champion and Charm Master, if the Headmaster was just willing to offer them sorbet lemons, tea and scones. Alas, the convocations were in each case to speak of events Filius Flitwick felt they should never have had to cope with in the first place. Placing an obstacle course and diverse traps in an entire wing of the castle came to mind. The hostilities occurring after each Quidditch match, the week-long prank wars causing bitter feuds between the Houses. This disturbing business with the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin was not far behind. And now Gryffindors taking upon themselves to impose their own rules over the rest of the students' population. Speaking of which...

"And Miss Greengrass will need to pass the next two weeks in the infirmary." Finished Professor Sprout. "Thankfully, she was not subjected to the same curses as Mister Higgs, who will need to stay a bit at Saint Mungo's. Poppy has done her best, but the number of students wounded and hurt in this whole incident has just emptied half of her available curative potions."

The jovial Head of House Hufflepuff had been asked to gather all the evidence about the attack of yesterday. This was not because she was a gifted investigator, but rather because with no Hufflepuffs involved in what promised to be from the very beginning a thorn in Hogwarts Professors backsides, she was the closest thing the four Head of Houses had of an impartial member.

"And your opinion on the punishments?" Asked Albus Dumbledore in the grandfather voice Filius Flitwick and the three others knew so well.

"Immediate expulsion for all the Gryffindors involved." Affirmed Professor Sprout.

"Surely we can find a less radical outcome." Protested Dumbledore, grandfather voice still present, though the coldness in his eyes was growing. "I'm sure this was all a misunderstanding-"

"Damn it Albus!" Filius Flitwick could not stop bursting in anger." This is not a misunderstanding or a prank gone too far this time! Young Mr Longbottom and his friends have ambushed a group of Slytherins, and when the students of my House arrived on the scene they were busy beating one disarmed second-year for fun! I dread to think what would have happened if they were left to their own devices!"

"I'm sure..." Dumbledore had not the time to finish, as it was Severus Snape of all people who interrupted the venerable Chief Warlock.

"Filius is right, Albus. I may not like all the pranks a lot of students do on a weekly basis -" an understatement if there was ever one, "- but I understand if one or two teenagers want to colour the hair of a fellow student differently or making him singing a funny hymn. This however, was no prank. I had half of the Wizengamot Lords screaming at me by the Floo network so bad I had to disable my fireplace, I received Howlers by handfuls, and I have half of my students in the dungeons plotting their counter-strike against the Gryffindors. I had to confiscate temporary a lot of their supplies and heirlooms today to avert a catastrophic retaliation, but I'm afraid that if we don't take serious measures, this is going to get out of our hands." A note was present in Snape's voice which had never been before. Something which strangely sounded like fear or anxiety.

Filius Flitwick felt suddenly very grateful he wasn't in this Den of Vipers or charged to keep an eye on the Snakes. The Charms Master was really not sure he would be able to accomplish the task without hexing his way through their Common Room. On the other hand, Severus Snape had a point. Several very good ones, in fact. With so many children of powerful member of the Wizengamot involved, the political crisis which had just been created was a shit storm of unimaginable proportions. The Dark Houses were going to scream murder and demand the expulsion of the culprits. The Light Houses were going to protect the members of their families involved in this mess. Merlin and Morgana only knew the side the Neutral Houses were going to jump into, though the attack on the Zabini Heir was a very bad indication how...less than optimal the situation could develop.

"I am going to formulate an answer." Said Dumbledore in a tone tolerating no discussion. "I will communicate it to you when it will be ready. Is there more to discuss?"

"Yes, Albus." Said Pomona Spout. "I know that Gilderoy and Filius wanted to reopen the Duelling Club, but given the circumstances I don't feel it will be prudent."

"I approve." Said Flitwick, although his heart ached in pain at the fact once more time he was forced by internal violence to remise in the luggage his Duelling Projects. Britain had become a joke in the last years on both the teenager and adult Duelling Circuit, and it looked like the renewal would not be anytime soon.

"Very well." Approved Dumbledore a bit too quickly. "The Duelling Club is cancelled."

"And what about the Heir of Slytherin?" Asked Snape. "Have we any idea who is behind this?"

"Alas, there has been no further information since what I shared with all of you on Halloween." Sighed Dumbledore in a pained expression Filius knew enough to know it was not a genuine one.

Minutes passed, and soon the Heads of Houses left the office hidden behind the large gargoyle. Three of the participants did not miss to note that of all the Professors presents, only one of them had not spoken a single word to contradict the Headmaster.

 _House loyalty indeed_ , thought Filius Flitwick. The failure of Minerva McGonagall to control her House was looking each day more evident.


	31. The Shadow of the Snake

**Chapter 31**

 **The Shadow of the Snake**

 **3 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"My parents invite all of you for the Christmas Holidays at MacDougal Manor, you know. And you band of ungrateful brats are declining their so generous invitation."

"Sorry, Morag." Smiled Hermione. "But my parents are dentists and they work all year, so they've arranged a holiday in Switzerland for all family."

"And my father talked to one of his diplomats' friend to find us a place in the Caribbean for Christmas." Excused himself Nigel. "If it had been only me and my grandfather..." He grimaced. "I would have accepted."

"But you have Alexandra going with you, Morag." Insisted Hermione, with the look of someone trying to escape the vengeful and legendary wrath of the Irish girl. "I'm sure she will tell us everything as soon as we come back."

"Thanks a lot, band of traitors." Growled mockingly Alexandra.

"You're welcome." Curtsied Nigel, before taking more bacon.

Alexandra laughed a bit more before returning to the breakfast. Morag had had more motives to invite them all to MacDougal Manor for the winter holidays, but alas these weren't the reasons you gave in the middle of a hall filled with students and eager for gossips. The MacDougal Heiress had confessed she would have liked for all their group of four to participate in the Yule celebrations, as they included some basic rituals which were opened to even non-initiated people like Hermione and Nigel and would have helped them get more in tune with their magic. Alas, with them having their own familial plans for the holidays, it was impossible and the opportunity might not come again. Initiation rituals were rarely done after eleven years old, and almost never under thirteen. Alexandra wasn't sure she had all understood the principles and the methods ancient wizards and witches used for their calculus, but the issue was that a child's magic grew continuously from ten to eighteen years old. Beginning rituals without any preparation in childhood could have grave consequences; some of them had become so infamous that the Ministry of Magic had used them as justifications to forbid them.

"Do you have Quidditch training on Sunday morning?" Asked Nigel, completely changing the topic of the discussion.

"Yes." Replied Alexandra. "Under the condition it doesn't snow too much." Watching the large snowfalls falling at the very moment over their heads on the Enchanted Ceiling and outside on the grounds of Hogwarts, it was far from a done-deal.

"I don't see how you can like Flying in this cold." Affirmed Hermione, who had still a very negative reaction to anything which related to broomsticks.

"The cold isn't that bad. It's the rain and the snow that are the hardest to cope with at full speed on a broomstick." Alexandra rolled her shoulders. "It's not like Davies has given us the choice. With the defeat of Slytherin, our dear Captain wants us to double our efforts to conserve the Cup sitting in Flitwick's office."

Contrary to the fears of their little group many in the school nicknamed "the Exiled", there had been no attack during, before or after the Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw at the end of November. In a weather windless and sunny, a rare occasion for Scotland in the middle of winter, the two Quidditch teams had played a normal match. Okay, as normal as it was possible when one spoke about the noble sport of Quidditch. The Bludgers were still as painful as ever, the Golden Snitch was as elusive as ever, and the combinations between the players were still dolorous when something didn't work as expected. Apart from these minor details, the match had indeed been relatively uneventful. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were not the Slytherins or the Gryffindors, who relied on brutality and insane tactics to take the advantage no matter the weather or the opposition.

That was not to say there was no talent in these teams. The trio of Ravenclaw Chasers formed by Davies, Burrow and Stretton functioned well, and their Hufflepuff counterparts had been in difficulty for the entire length of the match, conceding twenty-six goals in two hours and a half. The only reason why the score wasn't higher was the presence of a new talent among the Hufflepuff. Formerly Chaser, now Seeker, fourth-year Cedric Diggory had impressed more than one League recruiter in the stadium. Unlike the three other titular Seekers at Hogwarts, Diggory was not thin and light-build. The Hufflepuff was an athlete with brown hair, grey eyes and powerful musculature, one Alexandra heard made a lot of girls following him after classes in the hope of becoming his girlfriend. One might think it would have been a drawback when the weathers conditions were clement, as his physic would make the 'normal' acrobatics more time-consuming and difficult to execute. One would have been wrong. Cedric Diggory, with his fair-play, his respect and his obsolete Cleansweep 6, had so much outclassed Cho Chang many of the most fanatic Hogwarts analysts on the subject doubted the chances of Neville Longbottom to equal him. According to the Hogwarts rumour mill, the recruiter of the Wimbourne Wasps had invited Cedric to their traditional summer camp for young talents. Only Oliver Wood, Keeper and Captain of the Gryffindor Team had received the same offer in the last two years.

In the end, Ravenclaw had won 260-210. Not so bad a performance for both teams, which given that the Slytherin seven players weren't so undefeatable, let them a good chance to write their name on the Quidditch Cup at the end of the year. The only bad moment for the female population in the stands had been when Diggory had consoled Cho Chang, holding her in his powerful arms and generating an intense movement of jealousy from half of the stadium. The beautiful Asian girl had a lot of rivals on her tail now it had been shown she wasn't averse to cry in the Hufflepuff Seeker's embrace.

"Well, that and Ravenclaw victory at the Quidditch Cup is giving us a good advance for the House Cup this year." Said Morag in a satisfied tone, grabbing two biscuits and swallowing one immediately.

Hermione huffed and began to caress a purring Crookshanks on her lap. Since the incident in November, the Gryffindor girl had refused to lock her cat in the girl dormitories. An action Alexandra supported wholeheartedly, when the other inhabitants of said dorm had proven so unreliable.

"Yeah. Yeah. We were saying the same thing last year, Morag." Smirked Alexandra, taking a pancake from a basket which had just magically appeared in front of her. "Just before Professor Dumbledore decided to play the Gryffindor favouritism and awarded them the Cup on a silver platter for their rule-breaking." She added in a whisper.

"Ah, but it was before Professor Snape awarded us two hundred points for saving the skin of the Snakes." Remarked Morag. "And that our dear Head of Slytherin removed five hundred points to Gryffindor. Points they didn't have by the way, which put them a lot more in the negative."

"I would find it more reassuring if five hundred points was the amount Snape removed on the day of the attack." Remarked Alexandra. "Unless my memory fails me, Snape wanted to remove a thousand House points, made them scrub the floors and the grounds from Hagrid's hut to the top of Ravenclaw tower, expulse them and charge them in front of a tribunal with criminal charges. And while I am not his greatest fan, I think Professor Snape was right in this case. The Golden Trio and all these Gryffindors should have been expulsed and face a tribunal for their actions."

"Impossible." Affirmed Nigel. "Did you really think the Headmaster would have expulsed the sons and daughters of his own allies?"

"No. No, I did not." Sighed Alexandra, cutting her pancake in four and eating it piece by piece. "Still, I hoped...never mind. If it had one of us four responsible for a stunt like that, I have no doubt we would have been tried by the entire Wizengamot."

"See the good side of things." Told Morag, emptying the plates on the Ravenclaw with the dignity of a pure-blood and the appetite of someone in deep hunger. "By intervening in this fight, you became popular with the Neutrals."

In her mind, Alexandra rather used the word 'respected' or something equivalent. With her parentage, being 'popular' was forbidden to her. But a lot of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws - who were never going to be Slytherin friends or show support to somebody belonging to a Dark House - had been the recipients in the last sixteen months of the pranks imagined by the Weasley Twins, the Golden Trio and Gryffindor House as a whole.

With the teachers turning a blind eye, many had despaired. Except Snape, few teachers had felt concerned enough to stop this bullying. Alexandra and Morag raising their wands against them had changed the situation: for several days afterwards the overwhelming majority of the Professors had punished the prankers and the students breaking the school rules. A bit too late in the green-eyed girl opinion, but at least now they acted.

Besides this sudden episode of the teaching staff doing their job, for an entire week the two Ravenclaw girls had received an owl's tempest of congratulations from a lot of families. A dozen or so included Houses known for their 'conservative' positions on blood-purity. According to Morag, these Lords and Ladies would have ignored a disgraced Half-Blood witch in normal circumstances. Realistically it was because they didn't like the Boy-Who-Lived, but the letters had been appreciated nonetheless. As had the thanks of the Greengrass sisters and the other Slytherin when they had got out of the infirmary.

"And unpopular with the Light, according to the _Daily Prophet_." Tempered Hermione.

"No one is perfect." Shrugged Alexandra.

The Light Houses sitting at the Wizengamot had proven very spiteful, and tried to eject House Potter from its seat at the next session after the incident. Frankly, Alexandra was surprised they had been so stupid to try. House Potter's seat and vote were held at the moment by their leader, Albus Dumbledore. If they had achieved their goal, they would have fractured their own power base. Fortunately or unfortunately for them, the Dark and Neutral Houses had vetoed this move, 87 voices for, 198 voices against.

It had been the last offensive action of the Light Party. House Greengrass and House Malfoy were now suing House Longbottom, House Black and all the Houses of the Gryffindor involved in the attack. Each new paper of the Daily Prophet now was covering the political chaos it caused. It was unimaginable when one paused to think about it, but the problem of the Heir of Slytherin had just unleashed a massive political crisis in Wizarding Britain's legislative body.

At Hogwarts, it translated in seeing more and more rarely Professor Dumbledore. They hadn't seen the old wizard this week for example and it was already Thursday. Numerous searches in the dormitories of House Slytherin and Gryffindor for illegal and dangerous items, and the member of the two aforementioned Houses looking at each other with looks of murder.

The loud hoots of incoming owls for courier interrupted the conversations in the Great Hall. Like at each breakfast, the noises made by the hundreds of owls arriving each morning were a spectacular sight.

"Is it me, or there are a lot of letters for the Gryffindors this morning?" Asked Morag.

"And why are the Slytherins looking so amused?" Added Nigel with a lot of worry in his voice.

There was no time to wonder what the Snakes had imagined for their long-awaited retaliation. It was happening in live.

In a hoot full of revenge, around one hundred and fifty owls threw each a red envelope on the Gryffindor table. Before any boy or girl sitting there had the reflex to open one of them, the Howlers all exploded in a simultaneity that was too perfect to be a coincidence.

BOUH!

The sheer volume of the sonic explosion which struck Ravenclaw table was incredible. And it hadn't been the epicentre of the blast. Most of the Lions who were taking their breakfast were so surprised they plunged their noses in what they were eating, fell from their stairs or succumbed to more basic and smellier instincts.

Just as the persons present were busy trying to cope with the massive prank which had been launched in front of their very eyes, a massive, single owl arrived from above and threw a heavy package just in front of Leo Black.

"DON'T OPEN IT LEO!" Screamed Ronald Weasley in front of him, his voice betraying how much his hearing had been damaged by the blast. "DON'T-"

Neither Leo Black nor Ronald Weasley or one of the Gryffindors had the reflex to do anything with the package the avian had deposed before it exploded, liberating a...snake?

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

The alarmed shouts of the Gryffindors were high-pitched and fabulous in their authenticity. Who knew so many corpulent boys two or three times Alexandra's musculature could shriek like little girls?

"Everyone keep their calm!" Spoke Percival Weasley, trying to use his Prefect rank to re-establish order. "Everyone keep their calm. This is only a grass snake. It's not venomous!"

It was the correct thing to say, although some students took their legs and got the hell out of the way from the new arrival at the meal. Precaution understandable: the snake was really large and long, maybe six feet in length, grey-black coloured and was hissing a lot. The grass snake may not be venomous, but it was playing its part of the dangerous animal at the perfection. Lee Jordan had brought a tarantula last September but this was way more scary and unexpected for the children, who did their best to evade the reptile crawling on the table, reputation of courage be damned.

In all this animation, Hermione and Alexandra glanced at each other before looking beyond their respective shoulders at the Slytherin places. Sure enough, in the middle of the guffawing teenagers, Astoria Greengrass and Lyre de Male-Foi were the image one awaited of pure-blood princesses. Perfect face, impeccable manners, but nothing could hide the vengeful light of satisfaction shining in their eyes.

"And that, Nigel, is why you don't humiliate a girl before having an accurate idea of their powers and capabilities." Said Morag who had noticed too their regards at the former victims of Longbottom and his band.

A massive hiss interrupted all manifestation of laughter, panic, joy and appeals to calm. Astonishingly, it did not come from the grass snake, which had raised its head directly in front of a paralysed Leo Black's eyes, but from Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived himself.

The grass snake hissed threateningly twice for an instant, before doing the equivalent of a snake's salute and going slack on the table.

"By Merlin's pants, Longbottom is a Parselmouth!" Whispered Morag in a stunned voice.

"A what?" Asked Hermione.

"A Parselmouth. He can speak the language of the snakes!"

"I suppose not everyone has this...err... magical skill?" Alexandra asked, conscious of the storm of murmurs and grumblings which were rising in the Great Hall. She certainly couldn't speak to snakes, but there was no reason to assume other witches and wizards couldn't. In the mean time, about half of the school were looking at Longbottom like he had just butchered a student in front of them.

"No, it's extremely rare." Affirmed Nigel. "And Parseltongue is considered Dark."

"Why?" Frowned Alexandra. "It's just talking to snakes. I admit it's a bit...weird...okay creepy, to hear someone talking to animals, but I don't see how it can be Dark!"

"Well, Parselmouth isn't Dark per se," Instructed Morag, "but a lot of Dark Wizards have had this skill in the past and it is an inherited magical ability. The most famous of them was Salazar Slytherin."

"Oh." Hermione's mouth was open so wide she could have swallowed flies. "So Neville could be..."

"The Heir of Slytherin?" Finished politely the red-haired Ravenclaw. "Yes, he could."

"If he is, he's an excellent actor." Said Alexandra. "Look at him!" The face of the Boy-Who-Lived was a representation of confusion, shock and horror. Unless the boy was a masterful actor, it was the first time he spoke with a snake.

The reaction on the opposite side of the room was also worth the sight. Furious and angered faces were now displayed. The students sorted in the House of Salazar Slytherin didn't appreciate the Boy-Who-Lived having the tiniest connection with their Founder.

"Doesn't matter." Whispered Nigel, a clearly unneeded precaution as no one focused their attention on them. The Gryffindor table had become anew the centre of the show, and the Ravenclaw second-year had the sick feeling it wasn't going to stop. "I bet you by dinner everyone will think Neville's the great-great-great-something of Salazar Slytherin."

"I still don't think he is the Heir." Alexandra elaborated, seeing the looks of her friends being quite interrogative. "Neville is too brash, no subtlety and no motive to act against the victims. His House is supposed to be a shield against the pure-blood bigotry and all of that, right?"

"Sure." Sighed Morag. "But you have to admit it's a big coincidence. One Parselmouth at Hogwarts the same year petrifactions are taking place..."

"If the skill is considered Dark, any student having it will not advertise it by screaming in Parseltongue at the top of Gryffindor Tower." Remarked the black-haired girl, finishing pushing her plate aside and seizing her school bag. The Parselmouth revelation had cut her hunger, and the tempest of murmurs unleashed in the wall was not improving her mood.

"No." Admitted Hermione. "But after a thousand years, Neville Longbottom or anyone from a long line of wizard and witches could very well descend from Salazar Slytherin..."

 **11 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"I'm sorry Alexandra, but we searched all the mentions of petrifactions and nowhere there is mention of an animal, the fabled 'Monster of Slytherin' of the fable, which can petrifies people at will and resides inside Hogwarts walls. We don't know what the fabled 'Monster of Slytherin' is." Declared Hermione.

"Really nothing?" Asked the Potter Heiress in a disappointed tone. They were back in the room which had become by default their meeting place, homework studies location and headquarters of their group of four. After several weeks of cleaning and other household Charms, the former room where the fan-club of the Tutshill Tornados had met once upon the time was now a very comfortable place, with a couch, a small library found in nearby abandoned classes and a good fire in the chimney. The last point had become quite needed, as the temperature on the other side of the windows was hellishly cold, and a fierce storm ejected massive quantities of snow everywhere. Quidditch sessions were now officially cancelled. Going to the Herbology greenhouses was a nightmare, and not only for the snowdrifts. Passing between a warm and very humid place to a freezing one made a very unpleasant shock of temperature.

"Well, there's the Gorgon." Admitted Hermione in an unconvinced tone. "But the animal is extremely weak when the temperatures are not hot and warm. A Scottish winter would kill a Gorgon in a matter of hours."

"And it's a dangerous and endangered species, whose reproduction, transport and breeding are carefully controlled by the Greek ministry." Developed Morag, sending an ink-dirtied parchment into the fire. "Another problem is their life expectancy, close to forty years. I don't know how somebody could make one enter Hogwarts and use it at an interval of several decades. And these beasts petrify everyone they see, no wizard handler is able to safely control them once they're adult."

"Wonderful." Alexandra closed her eyes before reopening them in lassitude. "I have studied the archives of the Daily Prophet from 1960 to 1990 in the last weeks. There is nothing in them referring to petrifaction attacks or anything concerning the Chamber of Secrets. If similar attacks really happened at Hogwarts, it happened before the sixties."

"Any other tracks we can follow?"

"There was this evil artefact created by the Dark Lord Ren in the 1350s." Said Hermione absently, opening a very dusty old book she was probably the first to leaf through in the twentieth century. "One of its properties allowed it to petrify living beings, but it was only temporary."

"How much temporary are we speaking about?"

"Fifteen to twenty-four hours." This was a disappointing answer, but then the bushy-haired Gryffindor added: "then the stone crumbled and they died."

"Filch and Mrs Norris have been petrified for over an entire month without dying, so I think we can assume this artefact is not responsible."

"And the persons who were outside the great Hall in Halloween? Have we managed to make a list of everyone who could have had the opportunity to lead the two attacks?"

"For the attack on Creevey and Frazer, I'm afraid I haven't a clue where to begin." Admitted Alexandra, followed by a nod of assent of the two other girls and the boy around the table. "The two Gryffindors met their aggressor at the very limit of curfew for younger years. Perhaps a few minutes before it."

"The Heir could have run to his Common Room in the time he had left?" Wondered Nigel.

"A Hufflepuff or a Slytherin, yes." Tempered Hermione. "But I know of no secret passages allowing a person to move to Gryffindor Tower so quickly."

"The same is true for Ravenclaw tower." Said Morag, beginning to write what promised to be a boring History essay. "On the other hand, a student having run to reach the dorms before a Professor noticed is hardly suspicious."

"For Halloween, it's simpler." Alexandra unrolled a parchment for her Astronomy homework. "Five persons that I know of were outside the Great Hall when the attack came. Argus Filch, Neville Longbottom, Leo Black, Ronald Weasley and a fifth-year Slytherin student named...Bolton Lloyd. Filch is out of the pool of candidates of potential suspects. I would like to be sure the Heir of Slytherin didn't activate a delayed magical trap, though."

"I agree with Alexandra." Spoke Nigel. "What do we know about Bolton Lloyd?"

"Fifth-year, pure-blood, comes from a relatively poor family, two of his family fought and died under You-Know-Who in the last war." Enounced Morag. "Quite dumb. Is in the process of failing his fifth-year, dead last of his class."

"Not exactly the kind of criminal mastermind we search." Sighed Alexandra. It had been worth a try, but it looked like the search was a dead-end on that point. "It's possible he's acting like an imbecile to throw off suspicions, but most likely Snape put him in detention in the hope his marks improved. I will keep him on the potential list of suspects, but..."

Alexandra didn't finish her sentence, simply rolling her shoulders to signify how much she believed in his culpability. If the fifth-year Slytherin was busy failing his OWLs in spite of his best efforts, him conspiring to create a climate of terror inside Hogwarts was not a scenario which figured in her most realistic estimations.

"That leaves Longbottom as the principal suspect in these attacks." Said Morag.

"Yes. Why the Professors did not ask him to swear a Truth Oath he's not behind this disaster? After the incident with the Slytherin where he was involved, I would have expected the Professors to treat him like any common suspect."

"In reality they can't ask him to do that." Affirmed Morag MacDougal. "Veritaserum, Truth Oaths and a few other magical methods to determine the culpability of someone are forbidden to use on a Lord or a Lady of the Wizengamot without an absolute majority. Article 17 paragraph 6."

By the way the Irish pure-blood recited it verbatim, Alexandra had a feeling this kind of argument had come back a lot in Wizengamot and pure-blood familial lessons.

"That's stupid!" Hermione didn't like this and did not try to hide it.

"That's a major advantage for the powerful." Corrected Alexandra, not throwing a stone at it...she might benefit from this measure in several years and one never knew when it would become useful. "But I was not aware Neville Longbottom was already a Lord?"

"Technically he's not." Grimaced Morag. "A wizard or a witch is not authorised to sit on the Wizengamot, no matter his or her age and situation, until he or she is fifteen years old or has successfully passed four OWLS. But to be properly considered a Lord or a Lady, you have to validate the two conditions plus satisfy a formal vote of the Wizengamot for your ascension."

Raising her quill to imitate a venerable judge of said assembly, the red-haired girl continued.

"Longbottom will officially be a Lord when he takes his OWLS at the end of fifth-year. Until then, it's his grandmother who is Regent for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom. However, asking him to take Veritaserum or a Truth Oath now for a Hogwarts issue could lead to political huge problems in a few years. The Wizengamot is already in turmoil, no one is going to accuse the Boy-Who-Lived and make the situation worse."

"They can't ask him questions because he's a noble? And what will happen if Neville is the Heir?" Hermione's voice has mounted several levels and was now completely indignant.

"Calmly, Hermione." Said Alexandra in a conciliatory tone. "To begin with, we have only suspicions, not facts. Nothing proves Neville is the Heir. Being a Parselmouth doesn't mean he's the Heir of Slytherin. Assuming being the Heir gives you the power to petrify people...I still have my doubts on that theory."

Especially as this so-called 'theory' was well-spread in the Slytherin and Gryffindor ranks. Anything coming from those hubs of agitation and self-righteousness could hardly be considered reliable.

"And if you're wrong?" Asked Hermione.

"If I'm wrong and there are more attacks where Neville Longbottom is involved, then he will be tried by the Wizengamot. Truth Oaths or no, the Ministry will act. Let's just hope they catch the culprit and not an innocent."

Of course it assumed the Ministry would bother with a trial, a point they were not required to satisfy with the anti-Death Eater laws voted in 1981 by the Bagnold government and never repealed since.

For a few minutes, no one spoke. The two Ravenclaw girls and the two Gryffindors went over their essays and other homework for the next week of school before the winter holidays. At short intervals, one or the other would look at the windows. The snow storm was now redoubling in violence and intensity. Everything was white outside. No one alive was visible. Even the giant Hagrid was inside the castle most of the time in this season. The Thestrals dragging the carriage were not going to have an easy task when the students would have to be transported to the station of Hogsmeade.

Then in the silence which was only troubled by the moans of the wind, someone knocked at the door.

"Were we waiting for someone?" Asked Nigel.

"Not that I'm aware of." Shrugged Alexandra, drawing her wand and standing up. She marched to the door, unlocked it with a quick "Alohomora!" and opened it in one swing. The four persons in front of her were known to Alexandra. Although what they were doing here, she had no idea.

"Heiress Greengrass. Heir Zabini. Heiress Davis. Heiress De Male-Foi." A nod of approval came from Morag, confirming she had put the names in the correct order. Granted the French name ending it because it was foreign looked like particularly petty but it was apparently a result of the endless English-French wars. "I was not aware we were organising a study group with House Slytherin today."

"Very funny, Potter. Very funny." Said Zabini in the same bored voice which was his trademark." Do you invite us in or should we talk in the entrance?"

"If you have made the effort to come here, I suppose it is important for you." Alexandra sighed, putting herself on the side and giving enough for the newcomers to enter. "Please enter and tell us what bring four members of the sadly infamous Slytherin House in our respectable meeting place. I'm sure the conversation is going to be fascinating."

Going back to the chair she had sat upon on the last hour, Alexandra examined with an interested eye the four Snakes who had just barged in their private gathering. Zabini was projecting the same image as ever, those of a dark-skinned boy with very expensive clothes and a continuously bored expression. Daphne Greengrass had not much changed too since her first meeting at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Platinum-haired, a visage with a complexion of porcelain and so perfect it was unreal. Pale lip and cold eyes. Witch robes and jewellery so pricey Alexandra knew the Potter vault wouldn't be able to cover such spending for a decade if she bought clothes like this every day. At twelve years old, the Greengrass Heiress was very much a potential top-model for the future. Assuming she ceased to harbour this icy expression permanently. Alexandra didn't know much about wizarding courting traditions, but a girl who never smiled wasn't going to attract any prince charming.

Lyre de Male-Foi came next. The first-year Slytherin was looking more approachable than the Greengrass Heiress – though honestly it would have been hard to appear less – and had expensive clothes but the style and the manner they were worn revealed her foreign origins. The French witch had not the impeccable mask of the second-years; Alexandra almost could see the schemes and plots swirling in them.

The fourth member of the Slytherin group was more expressive, and was behaving significantly differently from the other three Slytherins. Brown-haired, brown eyes, unremarkable hairstyle reaching her shoulders and good but not onerous clothes: Tracey Davis, heiress of the Noble House of Davis was not a typical Slytherin. In allure, fashion and manners, she was something of a weird mix between Morag MacDougal and Hermione Granger; the social position of the Ravenclaw but the disdain of the system who had been shared by the Gryffindor. It was her unsurprisingly who broke the period of observation between the two groups.

"Nice to meet you everyone!" Said the brown-haired Slytherin. "You shouldn't stare like that Granger. Some people might believe you don't like them."

"Well we didn't exactly invite you here!" Barked the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

"The invitation got lost somewhere between here and the Owlery I'm sure." Retorted unfazed the brown-haired Slytherin.

"Why are you here Davis?" Asked Alexandra in a mildly threatening voice, hoping this conversation wasn't going to end with her being forced to separate the Gryffindor and Slytherin girls at the point of her wand.

"No first names, Potter? That's cold. Call me Tracey. Even the Ice Queen behind me is using my first name!"

A threatening growl came out the lungs of Daphne Greengrass and her cold blue eyes threw metaphorical lightning at her Slytherin housemate. The Davies Heiress ignored this manifestation of anger, her attention fixed on Alexandra.

"Tracey." Spoke Alexandra with a bittersweet smile. "Say what you have to say and then get out. I don't wish to find another carpet for this room because I soiled this one with your blood."

"Ohhh..." The simulacrum of fear in the voice of the brown-haired girl was completely faked. "Is the Dark Lady showing her fangs? Or is it the Exiled Queen these days?"

"Tracey." Blaise Zabini's voice had taken a hint of frustration, unless it was consternation? "You are not supposed to unpack every nickname a person has in front of them."

"Why not?" Tracey's face was showing a distinct smirk.

"Because one day, someone will draw his wand and curse you into oblivion?" Asked Alexandra with a good dose of sarcasm.

"You're no fun." Pouted the Slytherin girl. "But fine. We have come discuss for an alliance."

"No." The answer had been immediate, definitive. Without surprise, Alexandra noticed it had been Hermione who had spoken.

"Is your...Mud-, Muggle-Born speaking for all of you?" Demanded the Davis Heiress.

"Why not?" Answered Alexandra.

"You helped us against Longbottom and his cronies." Recalled Blaise.

"No. We, " Alexandra insisted deeply on the 'we' word, " helped young girls in numerical inferiority who were brutalised by a band of bullies. They were not able to protect themselves so we decided to intervene. I would have done the same thing no matter the House."

"You're a strange person." Remarked Tracey.

"That's called human decency, Davies." Intervened Morag showing a displeased expression. "That's why I think an alliance with you would be a very bad idea."

"Why? Because we're from Dark Houses? Or because they're an heir of Slytherin roaming in the corridors?"

"Please." Smiled Morag with a nasty expression. "Zabini family is far darker than yours, and he's officially Neutral."

"I can't speak for the others in our group," Alexandra affirmed, " but personally I can't associate with persons who prone genocide on a part of the human race. I may not be a good person or follow the so-called 'Light', but I draw the limits at murder, rape, assassination and supremacist ideology."

The Potter Heiress wished she was kidding, but alas it was not the case. Since the Slytherin team had showed off its new Nimbus 2001 on early September, the language of Slytherin House as a whole had become progressively more intolerant, racist and obscene towards persons of non-magical origins. After the first attacks of the so-called "Heir of Slytherin", it had become worse. There was a reason why Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff chose not to support the inhabitants of the dungeons, despite not enjoying in the least the ruthless pranking tactics of the Gryffindors.

"Alexandra's right." Told in his hesitating voice Nigel. "Since Filch and Mrs Norris have been petrified, you haven't stopped talking about purging Muggle-borns and the other undesirables from Hogwarts."

"We haven't a choice!" Snarled Tracey Davies. "Do you know how it is in House Slytherin right now? The seventh-years and some of the worst of our housemates are in control! Half-Bloods like me are beaten if we dare open our mouth to protest! Disunity is not tolerated in public! What makes you smile, Potter?"

"Oh, just remembering the words of the Sorting Hat." It was true Alexandra had smirked, but it was not for the reasons the Davis Heiress thought. "It told me it couldn't send me in Slytherin without having a bloodbath on the conscience. I'm beginning to think the Hat was right."

"Not everyone is as insane as you, Potter. We don't challenge half our House on the very day of our Sorting to come and try to murder us." Said tranquilly Lyre de Male-Foi, leaning against the wall. For her first intervention, the voice of the French Malfoy witch was cultured but heavily betraying English was not her first language.

"For the record, I didn't challenge them." Affirmed Alexandra. "Sykes and a few others had murder in their eyes as soon as my name was called for the Sorting Hat. I just forced them to accelerate their plans and strike when they weren't ready."

"Nice perspective, worthy of a Slytherin." Replied Tracey Davis in a bitter voice. "But it doesn't change anything. We won't defy Slytherin House for you, Potter, if that what you asks. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have tolerated the members of your group living in exile as long as you don't give them too much problem. Slytherin has more different and efficient methods to deal with outcast groups like yours. And my parents won't support an alliance with you if it means breaking all their ancestral alliances on the Wizengamot and the rest of society."

"Understandable." Nodded Morag.

"I agree with the principle." Said Alexandra, pausing a moment before delivering a new blow. "And yet your so-reasonable choice is a damning one. After all, if you don't rise today against the darker elements of your House when their bigotry is at its peak, there is a high probability you will never do it no matter the events and the circumstances. Soon, your housemates will lead you with the others in the darkness and the name of Slytherin House will be forever tarnished."

"I disagree with the vision you have of Slytherin's future." Told Blaise Zabini, in a tone where exceptionally there was no apathy or disinterest. The dark-skinned pure-blood showed a mask where no emotion was shown, and his voice had taken a mechanical tone. "There is largely enough time for us to finish our time at Hogwarts, graduate and pick our side in politics. For the moment, the Headmaster controls your seat on the Wizengamot and you have only House MacDougal to stand by your side. When you have gathered enough influence, I will maybe change my opinion but until then, an alliance with you at your conditions would only be a hindrance to my plans."

Neither Alexandra nor Morag or Hermione had the time to retort anything. A long piercing scream echoed in the castle, followed by the screams off Peeves the poltergeist. But this time, this wasn't to announce his latest prank.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!" Screamed Peeves.

The face of everybody paled at this announcement and the group of two Ravenclaw and two Gryffindors began to gather around their affairs.

"Looks like the time you were speaking of has just become a whole lot shorter, Zabini." Remarked Alexandra with a full dose of irony.

"You speak like we were going to be at war!"Snorted Tracey Davis.

"Unless we have totally different conceptions of warfare, Davis," Said Alexandra, standing up and stacking her essays and assignments in her schoolbag, "I fear we are already seeing the premises of a new conflict. Or the renewal an old one."

"A few attacks on some Muggle-borns students are not enough to begin a war." Affirmed Daphne Greengrass in her habitual frozen tone. Firmly suggested was the fact a hundred or a thousand persons of so insignificant standing would never dare against her noble blood.

"Not today." Amended Alexandra. But she had the ugly certainty the hostilities would begin much sooner than the end of her seventh-year. Taking her cape and her schoolbag, she made a motion to the other students to leave the room, locking it behind her with a third-year magical lock.

Immediately after that the eight students rushed towards the booming shouts of Peeves. Who was the new victim of the Heir of Slytherin?


	32. Happy Holidays

**Chapter 32**

 **Happy Holidays**

 **15 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

William Rosier augmented the length of his strides as he entered the library. He was already late, and if there was anything that his Mistress hated, it was for her servants to not be on time when she gave them appointments. Such thoughts should have made him angry, as he was the future Lord of the Most Ancient House of Rosier, and like his aunt had told him, a Rosier bowed before no one but the Dark Lord! But his Mistress had showed him the power of the True Darkness. She knew the secrets of Hogwarts, the secret passages, the bits of knowledge, minor and great, no one but the most experimented and wise students of the school learnt. His Mistress had the power, and the will to use it to her advantage. It was her who had unleashed the Monster of Slytherin against the Mudbloods and the Squib. Thanks to her, those who had not their place at Hogwarts knew fear and terror. The Professors were powerless to stop her, and it was just the beginning of her plans. Plans which were schemed in places the students had no idea they existed in the first place.

Hogwarts' library was a marvel of the Founders, though few students realised the full scope of engineering Rowena Ravenclaw and her three Founders colleagues had created a thousand years ago. With two levels and endless rows no one but Madam Pince the Librarian bothered to count, there were tens of thousands books here, all on the diverse subjects magic could offer. Some of them were rare. A lot of them were nothing more than common. A few were totally useless. But all made the Hogwarts Library one of the greatest depositories of knowledge available in the British Isles.

Yet what really few students failed to realise during their stay at Hogwarts was that for all this endless rows and shelves full of books, the library of Hogwarts was far greater than this. What was available to the common student from the very beginning was the equivalent of two floors of books. In reality, there were close to seven, counting the Forbidden Section. Not the Forbidden Section guarded by Madam Pince, oh no. The real Forbidden Section, guarded by a series of wards and protections put in place by each Headmaster and ameliorated after each the new wizard or witch took office. The one which contained all the scary knowledge the Founders themselves had not wanted any of their students to know. The one no student had had access in Hogwarts history without the approbation of the entire teaching staff. But concerning the four other floors not immediately accessible to the public, activation passwords, runes combinations, wand movements and some other esoteric knowledge were all that was necessary to enter them. The most brilliant Ravenclaw students generally discovered them in due time, not surprising when the library was their refuge, workplace and kingdom. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins knew some passages, by legacy or cooperation. The Gryffindors had little motivation to enter this area of the castle, much less discover its secrets. William Rosier very much doubted the Lions had a clue of what was stored here.

Passing a long abandoned part of the Divination Section, the Slytherin first-year pushed three runes respectively dissimulated under a tapestry, a row of books and a table, before descending the row of stairs which had appeared from nowhere. This particular secret passage was only known to a few, which made it the ideal location for a secret meeting. Passing a section dedicated to the Ancient Nordic magical tribes, William approached the table located in the middle of this secret section, before bending the knee.

"Mistress."

The figure who sat at the table turned her head towards him, her body hidden behind a black robe and a black hood, only bright red eyes shining in the penumbral shadow of this part of the library.

"Ah, Rosier. How kind of you to come. I trust you have what I need?" Asked the black-robed figure, in a voice which indicated suffering in case of failure.

"Yes, Mistress. Here are your results for the blood inheritance you asked to Gringotts." Said William, rising from his bending position and handing her a roll of parchment. The dark figure seized it, unrolled it and took a few moments to assimilate the information contained.

"A bit disappointing, but not unexpected." Murmured the figure to herself in a conversional tone once she had finished her lecture. The black-robed figure turned her head in direction of William Rosier, red eyes flashing in the half-light.

"I will need a powerful blood ritual on Yule to attune my magic, Rosier. I want to begin a purge of the impure blood which flows in these veins, and the shortest days of the year are the ideal moment to do this."

"Yes, Mistress. I will make the preparations for everything to be ready at Rosier Manor for Yule. What ritual do you have in mind? The _Blood of the Inheritance_?"

"No." Replied his interlocutor. "The ritual you speak of is useful, I will grant you that, but it is extremely long, several years at least, and it can be countered easily by simple blood infusion. No, the _Blood of the Inheritance_ is not what I need."

"There is the _Ritual of the Ancestors_..."

"No. I want to do the _Sang Royal_."

William Rosier's body shivered involuntarily at this affirmation.

"Mistress...this ritual is extremely dangerous!" Protested the young first-year Slytherin.

It was considered Dark and strictly forbidden by the Ministry of Magic in Britain among many other things. In itself, it signified absolutely nothing. The British Ministry had forbidden almost every known documented ritual in the last decades after all. But it was worthy of mention that every single European Ministry had done the same concerning the ritual of _Sang Royal_. The danger to the one performing the ritual, so great about one-third of the persons who did it never recovered physically and mentally, obviously played a part in this decision. So did the large quantities of human blood required, which often led the organisers of this ceremony to kidnap and butcher some Muggles. Even the Durmstrang Institute of all places had placed it on their black list, as the ritual had been the origin of several Honour Duels, disputed inheritances and some Blood Feuds extremely damaging in pure-blood circles.

"My decision is made, Rosier." The voice of his mistress was no subject to discussion and counter-arguments. William Rosier thus closed his mouth and ceased his protestations. "I am aware of the risks, but the danger of the ritual is outweighed by the sheer benefits I will gain once I have completed it. The first ritual at Yule will attune my magic to the darkness and start the purification process. Once this step is finished, the danger is...acceptable. The last ritual will only need my participation at another Yule ritual, and each phase of the ritual is irreversible."

The Rosier Heir nodded, understanding nothing he would say would change the outcome. His Mistress had decided, and he would obey.

"I suppose I better ensure the preparations for the Yule are perfect?" William voiced it like a question but his instincts told him his mistress would treat as a statement.

"Yes, Rosier. Oh, and begin to approach a few of the brutes in Slytherin House before you leave for the holidays. I will be weakened by the ritual for several weeks, so I think it's best if we hire some muscle to prepare the next attacks for us."

"By your command, Mistress."

 **19 December 1992, Hogwarts Express, Scotland**

"I'm really happy to be out of the castle and going home this year." Huffed Nigel, pushing his heavy trunk in the first compartment of the Hogwarts Express available.

"I see what you mean." Sighed Alexandra, once the group of four were all seated in the compartment. "Between the snow storms and the attacks, winter is really not pleasant at Hogwarts this year."

"I heard only a few students were staying here for the holidays."

"The Weasleys and some older students wanting to study for their NEWTS are all the living who remains." Confirmed Morag. "Apart the teachers who do not go home for Christmas, everybody is gone."

"What did you expect, Morag? People are terrified by the wave of attacks. We have...let's see, one caretaker, one cat, one ghost and four students petrified. And for the moment, the answer of the Professors has been...less than stellar shall we say?"

"Somebody is in a black mood." Smiled the red-haired Ravenclaw.

"Of course I am in a bad mood!" Exclaimed Alexandra. "This is supposed to be a school, Morag! We are children, whose parents paid a small fortune to learn an education in magic and the mysteries which come with it. Attacks which petrify people, troll, monsters, prank wars and hate between Houses are not normal. The Professors doing anything but their jobs is not normal." The Potter Heiress huffed. "We should really wonder if the adults are not all insane. Now that I think about it, it would explain a lot of things..."

"You have said what you had in your heart?" Asked Nigel.

"Damn right. That was an amazing bloody speech." Laughed Morag.

"Language!" Said Hermione.

"Okay, maybe I versed a bit too much in the dramatic and the complaints." Admitted with a groan Alexandra under the laughter of one Ravenclaw and two Gryffindors. "But I stand on my position: the Professors have failed in their duty to keep us safe. And the silence from outside, not a word on it in the _Daily Prophet_ , is weird."

"I admit it's a bit strange." Stated Morag. "Normally, for such an emergency the Aurors should have been called."

"Any idea why they haven't?" Asked Nigel.

"Hogwarts is a law into itself in Britain. The Ministry of Magic has only the authority the Headmaster of Hogwarts wants to give it." Speculated the MacDougal Heiress.

"Wait a minute." Said Alexandra. "Is that why Longbottom, Black and Weasley got nothing but detentions for flying a car straight into the Whomping Willow?"

"Surely." Affirmed Morag with a shrug of shoulders. "If Professor Dumbledore decides Minister Fudge has not the right to intervene, the Ministry can't do a lot to stop him. Not with the chaos at the Wizengamot and the Chief Warlock having one fourth of the votes behind him."

"There must a stop-gap, though." Said Hermione. "If the situation becomes too explosive, there must be something the Ministry can do."

"A unanimous vote of the Board of Governors is the only thing which can force the hand of the Headmaster. Nothing else can. And there are twelve Governors, three of them belonging to the Light factions."

"Which means the Board won't act until it's too late." Affirmed Nigel with a large grimace.

"And maybe their first action will be to get rid of the Headmaster." Alexandra grimaced. Facing three surprised looks, she smirked. "Don't be worried, I haven't been replaced by an impostor in the last ten minutes."

"You had us fooled." Grinned Morag. "But why would Dumbledore be voted out of his seat would a bad thing? We see barely the man once per week at school and I doubt he do that much work in the castle."

"Because for good or worse, Professor Dumbledore is a really powerful wizard who inspires fear and respect to his enemies." Affirmed the Potter Heiress, reminding herself of all the occasions she had felt the power the old wizard commanded. A true volcano of energy was the best description she could come up with. "For the moment, the Heir of Slytherin or whoever is really behind these attacks is stalking, preparing his raids and striking once before disappearing in the shadows. If Dumbledore leaves...Flitwick and Snape are probably the most powerful Professors after him, and they aren't in the same league."

"You fear the Heir would be free to attack with impunity." Frowned Nigel.

And what a joyous perspective it was, when four students had in four months been turned into stone.

"That's all and good, but what if we knew the name of the Heir? What if it was truly Neville Longbottom?" Asked Hermione in her best inquisitive tone.

The two Ravenclaws and the two Gryffindors looked at each other worriedly. That had been the subject of conversation for the last week at Hogwarts. Was the Boy-Who-Lived guilty? Before the latest attack, Alexandra would have been the first to declare the Golden trio's presence at the first crime scene and Longbottom being a Parselmouth were just a tragic, unlikely coincidence. The Hero of Gryffindor was perhaps the worst suspect to support a Dark agenda inside Hogwarts, wasn't he?

This certainty had been brutally smashed into splinters when the Boy-Who-Lived and Ron Weasley had been found on the scene of another attack. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sally-Anne Perks, two Hufflepuffs second-years, were petrified and the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House Ghost, was levitating in a sort of shadow whirlwind, unconscious and under the appearance of a weird, shapeless cloud. It was the latter's situation, which had been the greatest shock, actually. Among the many wizarding families frequenting Hogwarts, it had been widely accepted there were horrible spells created by Dark Wizards to kill, maim and do horrible things to their victims. But a ghost? A ghost was only a magical imprint of a dead person. A ghost was not alive. Neither Alexandra nor Morag nor anyone of the entire student body knew a spell which could affect a ghost, much less neutralise it like this.

Terror had spread in the corridors of the castle, and the vague reassurances of the teachers had done nothing to calm the spreading fear. Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley being released twenty minutes after being sent to the Headmaster's office by Professor McGonagall hadn't helped things either. People were whispering the search for the culprit was a half-baked job plagued by the Headmaster's favouritism of Gryffindor House. Alexandra had abandoned the title of 'potential Dark Lord' to Neville, and if there hadn't been so little time before everyone departed, it would have had the potential to develop into a very tense situation.

"What do we do about him?" Asked Hermione.

"Nothing for the moment." Replied the black-haired girl.

"Alexandra..."

"No, Hermione. Unless you have an idea what we're going to face, confronting Longbottom or any potential 'Heir of Slytherin' would be pure suicide. We're not speaking about a nasty fight with some enraged bullies. We're speaking about an enemy who has a weapon which petrifies people and can stop spirits. I don't want to go blind and find out the Heir has another magical power which allows him to kill one of us without any member of our group able to retaliate." Said forcefully the Potter Heiress.

"It wouldn't hurt to establish a preliminary strategy and keep the animals we have close. Atalanta and Crookshanks can alert us if something turns wrong."

"It can't hurt. It will be more useful anyway than Lockhart barging to rescue us!" Smiled Alexandra, lifting a bit the sense of doom which was present.

"His blonde hairs were a bit green this morning weren't they? I wonder what the Weasley Twins pranked him with this time..."

 **19 December 1992, Oxford, England**

"I thought we were not supposed to meet before the 23rd?" Grumbled Gilderoy Lockhart entering the café and sitting on an unoccupied chair, his blonde hair and general appearance a mess which would have destroyed the minds of many of the witches included in his fan-club.

"The plan changed, unfortunately." Replied Hendryk Jones, on the seat in front of him, a newspaper in his hand and the rest of a meal on the table.

"I had no idea my august presence was having such an effect on world events." Remarked the member of the Defence Against the Dark Arts League.

"It hasn't." Said the fifth highest ranking member of the Magical Intelligence Bureau in a humorous tone. "Did you have the opportunity to read the foreign newspapers at Hogwarts?"

"Alas, no." Regretted the blonde wizard, ordering a cup of hot chocolate to the waitress. "Ordering fashion and cosmetic magazines from France is the best I can do without raising any suspicion on my cover. And it's not the rubbish written in the _Daily Prophet_ that helps having a clear view of the political arena."

"In that case, you're going to love this." Affirmed Jones with a frown. "First, we have been put in probation by the ICW."

"Again?" Lockhart laughed. "This must be the what? The seventeenth time in half a century?"

"Eighteenth actually." Corrected Jones.

"May I know what prompted this unpleasant state of affairs?"

"Of course." Said amicably the man who was responsible for all secret operations made by the Union of the Magical American States in Europe. "In October, one of our elite teams of wizards discovered a cell of British wizards infiltrated in Philadelphia. They were busy stockpiling quite a few explosive magical weapons."

"Not very nice of them." Noted Lockhart.

"No, not nice at all." Agreed Jones. "It is our understanding they intended to arm some of our less sympathetic wizard-first supremacists. Naturally, we objected and we stormed their caches, arresting sixteen wizards and witches, four of them British and the rest our own citizens."

"And you've charged all of them, not just the Americans." Told Lockhart. It was not a question. Similar operations had occurred in the past, only for the criminals to be released once they were back on British territory.

"There wasn't any point to give them back to our dear Minister Fudge." Snorted Jones. "The British we put our hands upon were quite happy to sing they had friends in high-places."

"Friends like Lucius Malfoy?"

"Of course not. Nothing links them to Lucius Malfoy. His good friends Nott and Avery have left their imprints all over the place though. If they step one foot on American soil ever again, we will personally arrest and execute them for their crimes." The smile of Jones was rather carnivorous, although there was a point of frustration in it.

Gilderoy Lockhart understood it. Lucius Malfoy was a wizard the MIB had spent a few decades mounting a pile of files upon. Despite a stupendous amount of work, the American investigators were no closer to obtain proper evidence of wrongdoing, crimes and misdemeanours on him. Time and time again, the MIB had launched legal and not-legal operations, only to catch small fry, thugs and Death Eaters of minor importance as the Lord of the Malfoy House made a slippery escape and burnt any relationships he might have had with those arrested. The hands of Lucius Malfoy always came back clean. No one, not the French, not the Italians, not the Americans nor the Germans had managed to find enough proof to arrest and charge Lucius Malfoy in front of a tribunal. There were only a few tangential proofs, some low-level bribery at the level where he played politics and some conflict of influence they could accuse the Malfoy patriarch of, who was also by the way a respectable ICW diplomat member representing the British Isles. It was enough to force him to pay small fines every couple of years. It was however nowhere near what was required to pump him with Veritaserum, break his Occlumency barriers and finally send it to the prison cell this platinum-blonde-haired criminal so justly deserved.

"I suppose Malfoy led the charge to put us in probation?" Gilderoy's question was rhetorical and disabused.

"No, he did not. This honour went to our estimate Supreme Mugwump." Replied his boss.

"Ah." This simple of Gilderoy spoke volumes about his contempt of a man he had once ago long admired and worshipped like the reincarnation of Merlin. "What was the second point?"

"It's not official, but there are talks to reinstate the Tri-Wizard Tournament in the short-term future."

"Tell me you're kidding!" Lockhart felt in spite of himself his visage grow livid. "This Tournament has killed more witches and wizards than the last British Civil War!"

"They are speaking of new rules and new methods to choose Champions." The tone Jones had used to make this weak protest showed how much he believed in it.

"I'm sure it will be a relief for those who die in it." Sighed Lockhart, taking the hot chocolate from the waitress with a muted thanks. "Well at least the Hogwarts students will have experience to handle this tournament of nightmares."

"Is it really that bad?" Asked the MIB agent in a disappointed.

"Depends really how you see it. I think one of the worst problems is the environment: dividing the entire student body in four antagonistic factions is not a good idea at the best of times, and some teachers are very lax in discipline and punishments." The famous British author shrugged. "Of the seven main courses at Hogwarts, I can say with the information I gathered three of them are doing their jobs on par with what every American magical schools expect of its students. Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology are taught by Professors who have mastered the subject, so no critic there. Astronomy is a bit behind the others, as the British have not adapted to the latest innovations on the field, but it is generally correct."

"And the others?"

"Snape is a difficult case." Admitted Lockhart. "The Death Eater and his minion Whitehead are generally detestable human beings, but I have to admit they are doing their best to implement the safety measures of their class and improve the Potions skills of their students, especially the information research and the initiative. The issue I see is that their methods suffer from a Slytherin bias and are considered elitist."

"Explain." For once the voice of Hendryk Jones showed interest.

"The Potion Masters of this school are teaching the first-year students in the same manner they experiment with the students about to graduate. For the young witches and wizards who are willing to work hard and follow the hard guidelines Snape imposes, they rapidly thrive and reach impressive levels in the field of Potions. Alas, for every student who manages to follow this infernal rhythm, there are five or six who abandon the effort before their fifth-year, often with catastrophic grades."

"A lack of pedagogy and a strategy of privileging the formation of Elite Potioneers rather than average ones, then." Summed-up Jones in a thoughtful tone. "Problem is, it is not an uncommon policy. Our sources at Durmstrang indicate they are doing more or less the same thing for all their classes."

"Yes, but Durmstrang has over a thousand students they recruit all over Scandinavia, Germany and Eastern Europe." Noted Lockhart. "That gives them an impressive pool of talents to choose from. Hogwarts, on the other hand, has only a bit over four hundred students for all the British Isles. And there is more." The spy's voice turned grimmer. "While the number of students who graduate with a Potions NEWT hasn't changed in decades, the number of students achieving a Potions OWLs per year has completely collapsed and the composition of those who continue a Potion NEWT is alarming. There have never been more than two Gryffindor taking Potions after their fifth-year in the last five years, and the number is less than five for the Hufflepuffs. All the teenagers who continue are in majority Ravenclaw and Slytherin witches and wizards, who as a result are going to take the jobs of Healers, Potions Masters, Aurors, Curse-Breakers, Ward Masters and so on."

"The most prestigious and influential jobs." Said Jones absently. "And the better paid too." The MIB high-ranking wizard paused to think for a few seconds before speaking again. "All right. And the other classes?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts is a disaster." Winced Gilderoy. "I would like to say it is my fault because I play the imbecile as part of my cover, but the Junior Professor they hired with me is no better, and all evidence point out to say this class has been a true disaster for two decades. I haven't managed to discover if a curse is truly active, but changing of Professors each year is certainly not doing the program any favour."

"I wonder how Dumbledore is justifying such abysmal skills in Defence from his students." Told Jones in an amused tone. "Dumbledore closed several self-defence courses when he became Headmaster, and now the Defence Against the Dark Arts class is useless?" Jones made a negative nod of his head. "I would not describe it as a good thing."

"Some students deal with it by self-study. But the class of History is utterly and completely lost. When you use a teacher as a ghost, and a boring one at that, you have the results you deserve."

"And the elective classes?"

"Divination and Muggle Studies are the same fiascos as History, if not worse because one is told by a drunk who believes she is a Seer while the other is convinced we are still in the nineteenth century. The three other elective are quite good, but all the others main classes have been disrupted and closed by Dumbledore." The blonde-haired author paused. "Do you want more information?"

"No, I think it will be enough." Said Hendryk in a pensive tone. "Although I will want your full report before you go back to Hogwarts."

"Of course."

"Now let's speak about the Aura Reader."

Gilderoy emitted a loud sigh, with a pained expression which would have in all likelihood not won him any awards in Witch Weekly.

"Let me guess, there are girls and boys at Hogwarts who have the potential to reach Lord or Lady-levels."

"I'm afraid so." The tone of Lockhart's superior was worried. "Eight of them in fact."

"Eight?" That was worse than Gilderoy Lockhart had thought possible calculus. In reality, it was the double of what the worst-case scenario he had imagined. "Who? No, don't tell me. What I don't know can't traumatize me."

"Wise choice." Grimaced Jones. "Especially as some of them promise to be pure monsters in the future."

"That bad?"

"Let's just say Albus Dumbledore should really be careful in a few years. He might not be the Champion of Light any longer when they graduate."

It went unsaid that if one of these potential magical Lords and Ladies rose to the top, they might not only expulse Dumbledore from his prominent positions but also deal with the Light Party as a whole.

"Charming. Absolutely charming." Lockhart shrugged. "Now, what do you want me to do about the little problem of the Chamber of Secrets and the ward stones?"

"The Board is formulating a strategy as we speak. Their recommendations are..."

 **19 December 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland**

"Welcome to MacDougal Manor, Alexandra." Smiled Lady Isobel MacDougal, drawing her wand and giving a simple click to the inner steel gates, which opened slowly towards the interior of the mansion. Alexandra fought the nausea coming from the Portkey which had just been used to examine the place of their arrival. Minutes ago, Morag's mother had welcomed them at the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, her husband having been unexpectedly detained at an emergency session of the Wizengamot, and after a quick goodbye to Hermione and Nigel, they had vanished from England to magically appear here in Ireland.

To say the truth, the ancestral manor of Morag's family was really a superb construction, even if part of it was hidden under the snow falling at the moment. The manor had four floors and four great wings giving it a rough shape of a rectangle. They were stone sculptures, fountains and decorations everywhere, some them shining in ethereal light to celebrate the bank holidays of the end of the year. Alexandra would have enjoyed examining it from the outside a bit longer, as the night and the effects of the Samhain ritual the first time she had come had not allowed her to see a lot of the lands surrounding the home of House MacDougal. Unfortunately, the cold, the ice and the freezing wind were present in force, and Lady Isobel, Morag and Alexandra hurried to cross the short distance between the inner gates and the massive doors of the manor. The trunks of the two Ravenclaws were levitated between them. One twirl of the hand, and the manor was opened, letting the Lady and the two girls perceive the warmth and the light waiting for them after their passage in the frozen Irish lands.

Inside, the entrance hall was spectacular. Not in the same class and greatness like Hogwarts of course, but easily twice the space Black Cobra Manor had for the corresponding place. And unlike the home of the now defunct and unlamented Lady Cassiopeia Black, the walls had magical paintings on them, a blue and comfortable carpet covered the floor, the chandelier was golden and diffusing a brilliant magical light. The atmosphere was warm, welcoming, with the wealth and the decorations one expected of a Victorian-era noble residence. It was the complete opposite of Privet Drive and the place of abuse the Dursleys called home. Marching in a corridor where there were several paintings and photos of Morag and her whole family, the house was vibrating of energy, light and good emotions. Alexandra felt herself relax, and for the first time in her life, cheered on at the idea of passing Christmas here.

A 'POP' sounded, and a little creature with a big nose and very large ears, wearing a sort of blue-grey uniform teleported from nowhere.

"Litzy, take the trunks of Morag and Alexandra to their rooms, please." Said in a gentle tone Lady Isobel MacDougal. "Then, would you be kind enough to warn the kitchens to prepare us some tea and biscuits?"

"Yes, Mistress!" Squeaked the little creature. "Litzy will do it immediately! Tea and biscuits in ten minutes!" A new 'POP' echoed, and the miniature being disappeared with the two trunks.

"Who was that?" Said Alexandra as they removed their capes, gloves and all the enchanted clothes needed to protect themselves from the violent cold.

"Oh, it's Litzy, one of our House Elves." Said Morag, as her mother disappeared into ones of the three corridors next to the doors.

"And what exactly are our House Elves? I've never seen one before today."

Morag smiled sadly. Apparently, the subject was not one which put her at ease. "House Elves are the result of experiments many Dark Wizards made in the twelfth century to enslave several magical races to do their bidding. Most of the experiments failed, but by crossing several different species together, they managed to create the House Elves, which need to bond magically with a witch or wizard to survive as their magical cores are not sufficient to function independently. Litzy and eleven other Elves are living here and around MacDougal Manor in service of our House. There are more in other proprieties."

"They are sort of...indentured servants, then?"

"Yes and no." Replied her red-haired friend. "Houses Elves of this home are bonded to my father or my mother, so they have to follow their orders. They can be great cooks, gardeners, clean the manor in one day, be librarians and protect the manor. House Elves are extremely valuable, and my family has tried to make their lives as advantageous as possible. I remember several of them babysit me and played with me before I went to Hogwarts."

"But? I suppose there is a catch."

"Too right." Morag's blue eyes turned a darker colour. "Light and Neutral Houses tend to treat their Elves as close to equals as it's possible to be. They are magically powerful, loyal and bring enormous advantages to your lands and possessions if you make them happy. But the Dark Houses..."

"That bad?"

"Houses Elves in these homes are not important servants." Affirmed Morag as they left the first corridor after the Entrance Hall and arrived in a nice living room with five couches, several chairs, a low-height table and a full library leaning against the walls. "They are just slaves. Two years ago, we went to a Ministry ball for the Summer Solstice organised by House Nott and I saw some of them in the shadows." The Ravenclaw shuddered at the memory. "It was horrible. They were wearing shreds of clothes...and their eyes...their eyes were empty. Full of despair. When I watched them, I knew they had a kind of sick devotion towards their masters, but at the same time, they hated them. I don't know how to explain more..."

"I think I understand. Slaves, but forced to enjoy their servitude, and with the knowledge it will last their entire life."

"Yes."

"And the teachers want us to fraternise with those Houses?" Asked rhetorically Alexandra. "There's a better chance of..." Then she had a horrible thought enter her mind, as she remembered some of the insults the members of Slytherin House threw around each time there met girls or boys having a non-magical ancestry when a teacher wasn't present. "Wait a second. Malfoy and his goons think those who are not Pure-Bloods should be treated like that?"

"They say so."

Okay. The Dark Houses advocated genocide and slavery of those they thought inferior to them like they treated their House Elves. Quite lovely.

"Some of the Dark houses are not as repulsive as you make it sound, daughter." Gently scolded Lady Isobel MacDougal, who had arrived behind the two girls, making them jump on their feet. "But I admit the Notts behaviour towards their elves is abhorrent.

Now, Morag. Why don't you tell me what has happened at Hogwarts this last week?"

Morag's mother walked around the couch where Morag and Alexandra were lying, to sit in the couch in front of them. Without the cape and the winter cloak, Lady Isobel was now wearing only a conservative black robe, that didn't stress much her forms but still indicated she did regular exercise to keep shape. Her hairs were a dark blond almost brown, and her eyes were the same piercing blue as Morag's, though maybe a touch darker. She was tall for a woman, and exhibited a grace which was fluid and elegant. And she was powerful. Since the adult witch had greeted her daughter and Alexandra at King's Cross, the black-haired girl had been able to discern a decent magical aura surrounding Lady Isobel. Weaker than the one around Professor Flitwick or Snape definitely, but more powerful than what she had been able to see around the great majority of the Hogwarts staff.

"There has been another attack, Mother." Said Morag in an angered voice. "And Longbottom has once again been found at the scene of the crime."

"I see." The face of the Lady was still warm, but her eyes were as warm as a blizzard. "In that case I think you are due a lot of training sessions for these holidays, young ladies."

And her voice made clear they were not going to stay reading and discussing theory.


	33. Winter of Shadows

**Chapter 33**

 **Winter of Shadows**

 **21 December 1992, Rosier Manor, England**

Despite what the high officials of the Ministry of the Magic chose to believe in their paranoid minds, Yule celebration rituals were in general very tame. It was well-known that the night of the Winter solstice was the moment of the year where the powers of the Night and the Darkness were at their strongest; for those families and clans who still worshipped the Old Ways in this age, provoking these mysterious and powerful forces was out of the question. Samhain rituals were already potentially dangerous; the celebrations happening at a time when the veil between the dimensions of the living and the dead thinned considerably, and more than one wizard or witch had painfully discovered it wasn't wise to blasphemy his ancestors or the diverse divinities empowered on this particular day. Yule rituals had a far more sinister history than the former; between the tenth and the seventeenth century the list of wand-wielders having suffered a deathly magical backlash was enough to fill several volumes. Massive volumes.

Since the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Light and Neutral Houses had thus progressively decreased in potency or outright stopped their practises at Yule. In the last decades, the process had accelerated, with the Ministry bans and the rise of Christmas, but on average the Houses following the ancestral traditions made very simple rituals on that night. Silence, meditation, lighting of candles and cold meals were the main events. Yule was the longest night, and these witches and wizards remembering their origins treated it as a time of calm and veneration, carrying long black robes without any ornament or jewels. Clothes and appearance had to be austere. Make-up and polishing your nails was obviously discouraged. In some fashion, it wasn't very different from the practises of certain monks thorough the Middle Ages and after.

Nevertheless, at a moment the Light Houses stopped practising the Old Ways and tried their best to erase all knowledge of such activities, in a century where the Neutral Houses began to trust only their closest families and allies for such important matters, the Dark Houses celebrations had developed towards horrifying paths. Blood Magic. Cross-breeding experimentations, and not of the good kind. Curses so dark some Dark Wizards refused to dabble in them or even consider reading the books they were written on. Necromancy. Black Magic. Lethal diseases able to provoke pandemics on the world stage. The Grindelwald War fought on the continent had showed how far wizardkind was able to sink when greed, madness and bigotry were in play. The British Isles had been spared this wave of darkness thankfully, but the far more recent civil war had seen some of these barbaric innovations appear, as the Dark Lord Voldemort was perfectly content breaking the limits of morality and decency if it allowed him an advantage in his quest for domination and power.

Following a fight between Aurors and Death Eaters on December 21 1979 which had involved Inferius, werewolves, vampires and an awful version of blood sacrifices, Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold had passed Edict 1553-C with the full consent of the Wizengamot. All Yule and Old Way rituals were now totally forbidden, no matter how benign they were, and the new penalty being death by Dementor's Kiss for those caught in the act. One battle fought on the same date in 1980 had done nothing but aggravate the situation and reinforce the sanctions. The Ministry by the end of the civil war had consequently put in place new restrictions and powerful Dark Detectors all over the British Isles, to make sure no one continued these perversions of magic.

In theory, said detectors were literally able to notice any practise of Dark Magic or Ritual Magic in a range of several dozen miles. In practise, said detectors had been rushed rapidly to their arithmantic development and their efficiency could be best described as dubious. Any competent ward-master could put protections in place to prevent the Ministry from knowing illegal activities were taking place in a certain location. Manors and homes of the Ancient or Noble Houses of the Wizengamot had had these wards for decades or centuries. As a result, there were plenty of illegal things going on in the countryside that the authorities of London had no idea of. Like the blood-soaked scene situated behind Rosier Manor at this moment.

The immaterial apparition of a sixteen-year old Tom Marvolo Riddle was watching this carnage with a grim expression. There were bodies of Muggles men, women surrounding a large stone. All of them were dead, and their faces were bearing expressions of agony. Understandable as all of them looked like they had bled to death.

"Master, has the _Sang Royal_ worked?"

The vision of the former Slytherin Prefect turned its head on his left to send a nasty glare to the only person left standing in this gloomy scene.

"Silence, Rosier. As you are alive the ritual has evidently worked." The shadow of the teenager was torn between pleasure and discontent at this point. Truly this first-year Slytherin was useful as a servant but utterly useless when it came to use his brains. How far Slytherin House had fallen to admit such vermin into its ranks. But as the proverb said, you used what you had, not what you wished for. "Now make yourself useful and bring the body of your Mistress to me. I wish to see if her body has survived the strain of the ritual."

"Yes, Master."

William Rosier advanced at a hesitant pace among the butchery, his steps making repugnant sounds as his very expensive shoes walked over the blood-stained grass. A slow unimpressive Wingardium Leviosa levitated the young girl who had been lying naked on the stone serving as the altar. The Rosier Heir came back in Riddle's direction, the effort to maintain the Levitation Charm making him sweat profusely. In a last effort before collapsing on his knees, William Rosier descended the body slowly in front of the memory of a man who had become in the seventies the greatest murderer of Wizarding Britain.

Tom Riddle sneered at this pathetic demonstration of magic, before turning his attention to the girl lying near the diary from which he had emerged.

The eleven-year old comatose on the lands belonging to the Rosier family had brilliant red hair and a pale skin, but at the light of the sole and only torch lit by Rosier, anyone could have told something was different. A lock of hair in the middle of all this red had taken a pale blond colour. The cheekbones and the form of the jaw were different from the rest of the face, more refined and noble. The skin was paler than it had been hours ago. A small gasp and a low movement from her torso indicated the witch was still alive. The ritual had not failed.

"Good. The ritual has worked." Had Tom Riddle been alive, he would have breathed in relief. As it was, this short sentence was the only thing which escaped his lips.

"Does this mean you are soon going to be reincarnated, Master?" Riddle frowned, angry at the impertinence of the boy serving him. Once he had a body back, his first act would be to test the Cruciatus on William Rosier and hopefully teach him a valuable lesson of discipline. But until that glorious and long-awaited day came, this worthless wizard and the resources of House Rosier were all he had at his disposition. That meant he had to answer the question of his servant, whether he liked it or not.

"No, Rosier. This ritual was only a means to an end. With it, it will be easier for your Mistress to wield her true potential and accomplish faster our objectives."

"Your objectives, Master?"

"I need a new body, Rosier." The smile showed by Tom Marvolo Riddle turned magnificently feral. "But I need the body and the magic of a wizard for this, not a witch. And I've already made my choice. After all, who better to serve as my new receptacle than the boy who is the cause of my first defeat?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived..." Whispered William in awe at the audacity of the plan.

"By the end of this school year," Said the being having once belonged to the soul of Tom Riddle, moving his illusionary hand dismissively, "Dumbledore will be crippled politically and expulsed from Hogwarts, his Golden Boy will be no more and the Light will be ready to be defeated at the instant I decide so. I will gain a new servant...a spy and a recruiter. Now, Rosier?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Your Mistress can't return to Hogwarts like this. You need to cast a Blood Glamour."

The skin of the first-year Slytherin turned livid. "But Master..."

"You have enough blood available here, don't you?" Smirked Riddle, internally cackling at the discomfort of the pure-blood who was always so full of himself in public. More so when it came to strut in presence of his housemates his wealth and his inheritance. "Then start to follow my instructions and collect the blood. It would be a shame if you did not pay attention and were forced to do it over and over..."

William Rosier shivered brutally at the tone of the apparition giving orders. There was only one source of light next to his familial manor, but this was largely enough to notice the expression on the being's face. Evil. Pure Evil. Alas, it was a bit too late to retreat now. The Muggles lying dead around the stone-altar had been sacrificed because they were categorised as liabilities and as a result, expendable. William Rosier had no wish to join them anytime soon.

 **22 December 1992, Unknown Location**

"Some... incidents at Hogwarts have been reported to me, Your Majesty."

A sigh was the only answer which came of the figure hidden behind dark grey wizarding robes.

"Are they related to the current problems Albus Dumbledore face at the Wizengamot?"

"Difficult to say, My Queen. The old meddler's control over Hogwarts makes it hard to recognise the gravity of the situation. And we no longer have an agent in his stronghold since the death of our last pawn there."

"Regrettable, Knight Informer." There was no inflexion in the voice. The conversation might have been about flowers for all the feelings the two figures showed. "Continue to monitor the situation as best as you can. Any weakness presented by Albus Dumbledore is worthy to be noted."

"Acknowledged. Should I start some of our contingency plans if the situation develops...poorly?"

There was a brief pause in the conversation, as the second masked figure estimated the risks.

"No. The King has ordered us to put the greatest priority to the operations in the Middle East. Dealing with Albus Dumbledore and his Order of Phoenix would require funds and manpower the King is not going to give."

A very minor movement of the hood was the only manifestation showed by the first figure hidden by light green robes.

"You disagree?"

"Not exactly, my Queen. I agree with your point on our resources now, but surely there will be a time when our organisation will be free to turn its attention to Hogwarts? When this day comes, I believe it will be in the Exchequer's best interest to have agents and caches in place to deal with the situation."

"Your proposition... has merit." Seconds of silence followed more seconds of silence before finally being interrupted. "But you will need insight on Dumbledore's actions and plots to correctly plan his demise and our take-over of Hogwarts."

"Our last spy lived at Hogwarts during nine months and was never revealed as such." Objected the first figure.

"True. But he was also instructed to keep a low-profile among his colleagues, which meant he never created an information network among the students or tried to rally one or more core teachers to our cause."

"With all due respect, my Queen, what is done is done. We could however try to infiltrate another spy when the new school year will begin in September."

"We could. But this time I think we will need to bring someone stronger than a pawn to the playground if the Exchequer wants tangible results."

"What about someone who knows Dumbledore?"

The Queen of the Exchequer paused for fifteen seconds while looking at her interlocutor.

"Him?"

"He has the motivation."

"I will discuss it with the King."

 **22 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Severus Snape waked in great strides along the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, his dark mood preceding him like a dark aura of terror, his black robe billowing like a bat emerging from some tormented hell and his jaw tightened in the extreme. The Senior Potions Masters was rarely in a pleasant mood at any time, as a lot of Gryffindors could have vigorously attested over the last decade, but on this particular evening, his thoughts were particularly murderous and dark.

Severus Snape had been charged by his master Albus Dumbledore to patrol Hogwarts in the Headmaster's absence. This had been a rising occurrence over the last school years, Dumbledore being too busy assisting to Wizengamot and ICW meetings to deal with the mundane things requiring his presence inside the castle, but refusing to hire more people to deal with the menial tasks. Minerva McGonagall was doing his paperwork, to take one example amongst many. That patrolling was a simple task did not mean it was a pleasant one, especially it offered the friendless Professor the opportunity to see a lot of human interactions between students no one was ever going to give him. One impartial observer could have told it was Albus Dumbledore way to pass a subtle message to a man who had been part of the Death Eaters before coming to the magical school. Too bad the message had been totally ignored by the receiver.

Severus Snape's second mission was to find whoever was behind the series of attack that terrified the entire school, and to arrest him, on the spot if possible. The Chief Warlock remembered how Hagrid had been blamed fifty years ago for a crime he hadn't committed, and wanted no such errors to happen again. The problem, aside from the fact all Professors and at least two dozen Aurors should have been ordered to do this considering the sheer danger it put four hundred-plus students, was the sheer impossibility of it. Hogwarts was a large castle, with seven open floors, hundreds of classrooms, secret passages and magical artefacts. Finding something or someone who didn't want to be found was close to hunting illusions. Ancient alumni of the school had often said Hogwarts was a place where you could lose an entire army and never find them after decades of searches.

But Severus Snape was a Professor, even if a couple of hundred Gryffindors alumni would have jumped in the air to disagree vehemently this point. The job itself implied classes to assist, essays to correct and grade with unfair marks, cauldrons and ingredients to prepare, detentions to oversee and potions supplies to order from half a dozen suppliers. There was seven years of curriculums to decide, because it was not the mediocre Junior Professor Whitehall who was going to do it. There were analyses of confiscated love potions to do and idiotic girls to punish. All these necessaries activities made sure his patrols and his searches did not happen before curfew and sometimes later than this hour-mark. To add a little difficulty to the procedure, Severus Snape had not been given any oversight over the formidable wards protecting Hogwarts. The mysterious attacker petrifying the Muggle-born children could have been attacking one corridor away from him, and the Potions Professor wouldn't be aware of it if the struggle didn't produce some noise. Little wonder then that the track of the Heir of Slytherin was going absolutely and utterly nowhere.

Unfortunately, while a wise man would have recognised the problem faced by a certain Professor Snape and employed significant amount of manpower to the task, Albus Dumbledore had used a sort of weird logic-reversal before going gallivanting at another ICW congress. If the head of Slytherin House hadn't the time to do these extra-curricular duties during the school year, fine. Fortunately, these were why the winter holidays were for, weren't they?

A Professor like Flitwick, Sinistra or Sprout would have sent the Supreme Mugwump packing to have the audacity of ordering them like this. Give them more duties and forcing them to staying there during the holidays without paying them in return? Dumbledore would have faced a general insurrection of his teachers! But said wizards and witches were not at the mercy of the Headmaster. Should Flitwick decide one day to leave Hogwarts, there wasn't a lot the Defeater of Grindelwald could do to stop him. Severus Snape on the other hand, would not last a long time outside without the protection of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. No matter what the sheep of the Wizarding World thought, they were plenty of Death Eaters in liberty not regretting at all their crimes. Without the protection an ancestral manor could afford, the Potions Master would not last a week. Like it or not, Severus Snape was trapped at Hogwarts as long as Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort both died. And he did not like it.

"What I do in the name of your memory, Lily..." Sighed Severus Snape, a melancholic expression passing for an instant on his visage. Just an instant. His expression re-hardened the moment after. Lily Potter was long dead, killed by the fault of this imbecile and traitor James Potter, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Her daughter was forced to live the life of a paria...and that too he hadn't been able to do anything, because Dumbledore had forbidden him to intervene in any fashion in the Potter heiress' life. The Potions Master couldn't treat Sirius Black and his insufferable son like they deserved. The Boy-Who-Lived could not be expulsed from Hogwarts despite dozens of major incidents. Sometimes, he really regretted being alive and having to deal with several things at once, his role as a double-agent was most of the time the least problematic of the roles he had to play.

Descending the stairs, the Potions Masters threw a glance at the other moving methods of transportation inside the school. All were clear of any human and animal presence. Snape doubted the Headmaster had noticed, but counting the staff members and the students, they were exactly seventeen persons present at Hogwarts for Christmas. Any chance of the Heir of Slytherin striking before the end of the year was null. To do so would result in the Potions Master pumping the sixteen other persons so full of Veritaserum they would spill every secret from their birth to their death. Yes, Truth Serum administered in large quantities was fatal. No, the Head of Slytherin had no problem with it. Anyone who petrified people to support this stupid blood-purity policy deserved a very dolorous end when he or she would be caught.

Of course, that wasn't the only important thing Albus Dumbledore had missed, in Snape's opinion. The Chief Warlock was a master politician and an excellent orator, able to make the majority of the British witches and wizards he was the only choice as Leader of the Light. Yet, they were cracks in this apparent invincibility. As a teacher sitting at the Head table, the Potions Master had remarked how many young students were fixing the empty throne at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Some of them had fear, discontent, veneration, happiness in their gaze. But they were others. Others who had lights of ambition in their eyes. Teenagers who looked at the lone seat symbolising the highest position of Hogwarts...and wondered. With the enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindors spiralling out of control, Severus Snape felt it was only a matter of time before somebody challenged the Headmaster. The first attempt would not succeed, no matter what Lucius Malfoy thought. Dumbledore was simply too powerful, his control in the politics and system of alliances ruling Britain too absolute. But it was a start. And sometimes insignificant events had led to bigger changes worldwide...

 **28 December 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland**

Christmas and Yule had passed and MacDougal Manor has emptied itself again. There had been long and silent wait during the night of the solstice where the entire MacDougal clan had been present, followed by fireworks, garlands, enchanted fairy lights, drinks and meals to profusion. The day of Christmas had been marked with joy and the opening of countless presents. Alexandra had received so many books from persons she hadn't spoken before she knew some would have to wait until summer break to be read. But now it was the twenty-eighth and the party was over. The large and imposing Christmas tree was still here, but the invitees were gone. Lord Glenn and Lady Isobel MacDougal had departed respectively for the Wizengamot and the Comet Trading Company headquarters, putting an end to Duelling and sword lessons. Apart from the house-elves in charge of the kitchens and the basic chores, the only occupants of the Manor were two twelve-year old girls, sitting in a massive living room in front of a chess set and listening to animated songs on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

"It's snowing again, Morag."

"You know, if you don't move this rook anytime soon, I'm going to put you into checkmate, Alexandra. Snow or not."

"I didn't peg you for the vengeful type." Sighed Alexandra with an exaggerated roll of shoulders. "Gifting me a chess game at Christmas to beat me at your leisure..."

"Me? Vengeful?" Laughed the red-haired Irish girl. "What should I want a pay back of?"

"Our duelling bouts perhaps?" Alexandra asked rhetorically raising an eyebrow. Since their arrival at MacDougal Manor, the two girls had practised a lot their offensive and defensive magical capabilities. Just on case the Heir of Slytherin decided they were acceptable targets or their group had to intervene in a perilous situation. Again. To this day, Alexandra was winning 78-30 in their duelling matches. Who knew this sort of magical paint-ball spell was so nasty used in close succession?

The sword lessons she had demanded – since by a strange turn of events Dumbledore had completely forbidden the uses of blade lessons inside Hogwart's walls – were even more one-sided. Not that Alexandra or Morag were going to be experts in that domain any time soon. Let's just say they could take swords now and not gut themselves in a false move.

"I'm not that petty." Smirked Morag. Meeting Alexandra's incredulous stare, the pure-blood Heiress modified her previous statement. "Maybe I am. But you have to admit it's a bit frustrating to be beaten so often. I was never trained by Professor Flitwick, me!" Despite her best efforts, Morag lacked precision and stamina to keep up with Alexandra for more than thirty seconds. The red-haired Ravenclaw had to finish the duel very quickly, or it was her black-haired opponent who triumphed. Only three times so far the red-haired witch had managed to surprise her in a minutes-long duel, and each time Morag had surprised Alexandra with advanced and esoteric spells the Potter heiress hadn't managed to evade in time.

"I'm not sure Professor Flitwick is responsible for everything." Remarked Alexandra. This time it was Morag's turn to make a doubtful grin. "I'm not denying it helped me a lot, but I have not had private lessons with our Head of House since May. Everything I learnt from this point, my new spells, my tactics and strategies are my own."

"But our Charms Professor gave you the foundations you needed." Countered her friend.

"Yes. But I was exercising well before we met in evasion skills, reflexes and endurance." Although it hadn't been how Alexandra had seen this when she was chased by Dursley and his band of brutes. "I was a little surprised in fact your parents didn't give you a tutorship in the subject. I mean, you told us several times your father was a solid duellist when he was young..."

"He was." Grimaced Morag. "But managing the familial businesses, ruling the MacDougal clan and dealing with the Wizengamot problems take all his time. I love my dad, but his positions have reduced our family time to almost nothing. He's here for the Sundays, two or three weeks during summer and the feasts like Christmas, New Year or Yule. You've seen how late he comes back in the evening. My dad is too tired to teach me anything, even less duelling lessons. It's my mom and Uncle Balor who tutored me before I went to Hogwarts, and they have never frequented the Duellist circuit."

"Is it something common for all pure-blood families?" Alexandra was honestly curious about this. Her childhood at the Dursleys with this sorry excuse of a pig for cousin had been so far from 'normal' it wasn't funny. On the other hand, the raven-haired twelve-year old had to admit there had not been a lot of time in her childhood the three overweight beings known as Vernon, Petunia and Dudley stayed apart for long. Every meal at Privet Drive was taken together either in the kitchen or in front of the television. 'Together' did not include her, of course.

"Only for the witches and wizards who do something besides being involved in politics like my father. You know Susan Bones of Hufflepuff?" At Alexandra's nod, Morag pursued. "Her aunt is the Director of Magical Enforcement, rules the finances of House Bones and is holding the family seat at the Wizengamot until Susan comes of age. I don't think she has much spare time."

"The more I know about politics, the less they sound attractive..." Whispered Alexandra.

"It's only the tip of the iceberg, I'm afraid." Shrugged the red-haired Ravenclaw, turning on her left to see the snow falling from the sky. "Feuds with other Houses, anti-creature and anti-magical laws who restrain our privileges. High officials and Wizengamot members selling their vote to the highest bidder. The Ministry is too willing to close their eyes when you support one of their pet projects like new Wing at Saint Mungo's."

"Thankfully, it is not my job to fix it."Alexandra frowned, seeing the dangerous look on the visage of her interlocutor. "What?"

"Don't joke about this. You are an Heiress of a Most Ancient House, Alexandra. It is your duty to ensure the laws of Wizarding Britain are applied and respected." Said Morag in a piercing and deadly serious tone.

"Err...not to contradict you, but me accessing to my seat when I turn to fifteen requires a majority vote of the Wizengamot. Vote I'm pretty sure is unwinnable, since all the Light Houses and quite a few Dark and Neutral Houses will vote against me. So I will most likely not be recognised as a full-member before I'm seventeen, and by the way things are going..."

"You are powerful. You can change things. The Morrigan wouldn't have appeared for you otherwise at Samhain."

Alexandra's look turned thoughtful. Inwardly, she was confused. The entity which had manifested itself on that very night had given her back her control of wandless magic, for which she was thankful. On the other hand, it had also given her weird flashes of things she hadn't the tiniest clue what they meant. Neither did Morag for that matter. The only certainty was the bloodshed and apocalyptic battles being fought. Not exactly helpful.

"I'm flattered by the confidence you have in me. But they're only four of us to stop the tide at Hogwarts. All our efforts will only be sand castles if other wizard and witches don't become aware of the dangers posed by the Ministry and Dumbledore's governance."

The two Heiresses looked at each other, trying to guess what the other one was thinking from an historical point of view and both arriving to the conclusion nothing good would be in store for the future if the situation was left unchecked.

"So?" Asked Morag. "Are you going to push that rook or should I declare victory?"

Alexandra grumbled, but moved her black chess piece to avoid checkmate. It was only a delaying tactic, though. Four exchanges later, one black bishop and two black pawns lost, the game was over.

"Perhaps you should ask Weasley to give you chess lessons?"

"Don't joke about that!"

 **30 December 1992, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

"Order! Order in the courtroom!" Bellowed Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic for the British Isles. "This is the Wizengamot, not a bordello of Knockturn Alley! ORDER!" The sentence was pronounced in a somewhat martial tone, with large strikes of a wooden gavel against his desk.

No one in the Ministry Courtroom number 3 bothered to listen to him. Assuming the Lords, Ladies and other officials would have managed to listen to him in the multitude of screams, accusations, denials and protestations, it was possible they would have chosen to ignore him anyway. Cornelius Fudge was a well-known quantity and easily buyable when the occasion called for it. And as such, easily discarded by the wealthy and important pure-bloods busy vilipending their political opponents.

On his seat in the upper benches, Lord Glenn MacDougal watched the political disaster unfurling under his very eyes with an annoyed look. The Libertarian and Traditionalists groups were screaming at each other in anger, exchanging arguments which had nothing logical or reasoned. Thanks to the Magical Oaths, the Wizengamot Charter prevented every witches and wizards to use her or his wand in an official courtroom except under ceremonial purposes. It couldn't make them behave in a dignified manner unfortunately. Lord Nott and Lord Yarrow had tried to murder each other with their bare hands not thirty minutes ago and had nearly succeeded. What damage they could have done with their wands in a restricted space, the Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House MacDougal tried very hard not to think about. The rest of the assembly had also abandoned all partiality and dignity. Many of his fellow Neutrals were discussing or preparing their own proposals for the next sessions, ignoring the Pro-Muggle and Conservatives' recriminations.

Today had been supposed to be the session where the Muggle Protection Act of Arthur Weasley should have been voted. Originally scheduled for September, endless debates and quarrels between supporters of this bill and their opponents had delayed it far beyond Chief Warlock Dumbledore and Fudge's optimistic schedule. By the way things were unravelling, trying to pass the law now was going to be an impossibility until the political climate calmed up a bit. With the Dark Houses going to vote against no matter what, the Moderates votes in the Neutral block were more important than ever. Thanks to Merlin and Morgana, Albus Dumbledore had been unable to persuade more than a few independents and lone lords by words or more earth-to-earth incentives, and the Moderates were far from only the block composing the Neutrals. There was also his group, the widely derided 'Irish-Welsh Entente' - because said faction was led by his own House and House Slughorn of Wales – and together they formed a block of fifteen Houses. Then they were the Independents, who were a flexible mix of Houses varying from near-light like the Ancient House of Carrington to the truly infamous Most Noble House of Zabini. The latter two categories had withdrawn all support from the Light laws since June and returned the Grey-Neutrals to...a more neutral stance.

"Order! Order!" Continued Fudge, but his voice faded as the Wizengamot members energized arguments soared in a loud cacophony towards the upper balcony where a few idle onlookers stared at this picture of disgrace.

On the Minister's left, Amelia Bones was showing an emotionless expression to the rest of the world, a stern attitude supported by her red hair trimmed with gray and her monocle. Glenn knew like the rest of the Wizengamot that the interim Lady of the Noble and Ancient House of Bones held Dumbledore and Fudge guilty of the current chaos in the political arena. It wasn't like she had made any secret to it! But despite House Bones being counted among the Moderates, the powerful witch was too rigid and impartial for his taste, proof if there ever was one the centre of politics really attracted characters having no common policy. Of course, her impartiality towards any Wizengamot group was the reason she had stayed at her post for so long. If the little band of sycophants surrounding Albus Dumbledore at every occasion were not properly brought to account, the Traditionalists and the Conservatives would have demanded her head years ago. If the former Death Eaters and their Anti-Regulation friends were free to organise sabbat every night, the Libertarians and the Reformists would have had a field day, not to mention the Statute of Secrecy wouldn't have survived the aftermath of the last war.

Amelia Bones would never win any popularity contest, but she did her job – something few Department Heads could boast – and by all accounts, the majority of the lawbreakers during her mandate ended paying the price of their crimes. The Aurors, Hit-Wizards and the majority of the DMLE enforces stood with her. A good thing too, because Dumbledore and Malfoy had done their best to infiltrate her department and shift her funding for the most ridiculous reasons it was possible to think of.

"FINE!" Roared Fudge who had casted a Sonorus on himself and looked like he was going to have an attack of apoplexy if nobody called a healer in the newt minutes. "THE SESSION IS OVER! WE WILL CONTINUE THE DEBATE TOMORROW!"

As the crowd departed in angry mutterings, Morag's father watched the Chief Warlock with attention. Albus Dumbledore was looking at Cornelius Fudge with the gaze someone gave to their subordinates before firing them as they caused too much trouble. The Minister had been very friendly with Lucius Malfoy in the last months...the blonde-haired wizard in question was sallying out of the room with several senior figures of the Conservatives, Traditionalists and Anti-Regulations alliances. It was a noticeable change as the men notably suspected to have been part of the Death Eaters in the last conflict were rare in his surroundings. Too bad reading on the lips at this distance without Supersensory Charms was impossible. There were rumours about certain manoeuvres on Hogwarts' board of Governors which were...puzzling.

"What was the next thing we were supposed to speak about, by the way?" Lord MacDougal asked to Lord Catterick. The grey-haired wizard on his right was ruffling thorough an impressive column of parchments.

"Something about a new attempt to restart the Triwizard Tournament, I believe." Was the answer growled in a ruffled voice. "There's going to be a meeting in July or August between eight or nine European Schools."

"We haven't the budget for something like that. Not since Fudge pushed at the ICW that we wanted to organise the next Quidditch World Cup."

"Like it has stopped the Minister and our dear Chief Warlock before..." Chuckled Lord Slughorn on his way to the exit.


	34. Conspiracies and Polyjuice

**Chapter 34**

 **Conspiracies and Polyjuice**

 **3 January 1993, Hogwarts Express, England**

Hogwarts students in certain ways were very much like their Muggle counterparts. There were perfect students, who shuddered at the very idea of breaking a rule or bypassing by an inch the entrance of a forbidden area. These witches and wizards teenagers were in general their teacher's favourites pupils, never received detentions, earned so many good points their personal school files were overwhelmed by them, showed perfect grades to their parents and in general left the establishment with letters of recommendation from every teacher. Names like Percival Weasley, Penelope Clearwater or Cedric Diggory, to include some of the fifth and sixth-year Prefects, belonged in this category.

After them, came the broad range of students who could have been considered 'normal' if such a thing existed in the Wizarding World. Girls and boys who tried to respect the rules and the teaching staff, but sometimes chose to violate the frontiers when Quidditch or something in their hearts pushed them to do so. Most of the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws fell into this category. On average, the Heads of Houses were rarely concerned with these young witches and wizards: one or two reprimands and these students returned to a correct attitude and earned the required number of OWLS and NEWTS.

Then there were the witches and wizards who gave no attention to the rules, but ensured they were never caught in the act by skill, talented manipulation of the existing rules, leaving no witnesses or sheer dumb luck. Infinitely more dangerous than the two first categories, these wand-wielders hid in the shadows and never gave hints of their real capabilities. A sizeable minority of Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses were filling this description, generally getting away with their misdemeanours because the teachers had not enough free time to do proper investigations.

Finally, there were the students who considered a duty to create as much mischief as they could in the thousand-year old castle, teenagers and children who did not care if they were caught in the act. Laws, rules, authority and discipline were considered cumbersome and despised with deep fervour. These troublemakers used the influence and the wealth of their families to pursue their mischievous activities on other students who lacked such advantages. In peace time, it resulted in wave of pranks. In time of foreign conflict or civil war, it could reach the level of lethal curses and crimes of the highest order. They were the architects of chaos and the bane of tranquillity everywhere they walked. By a strangest coincidence, the vast and crushing numbers undoubtedly belonging to this infamous category were members of Slytherin or Gryffindor Houses.

And if an impartial observer had conducted a 1992-1993 poll to know who were the biggest nuisances with the only voters being the professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the odds of Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley and Leo Black being mentioned would have been incredibly high. In one year and a half of scholarship, the Golden Trio had acquired a mystical aura of breaking the rules and audacious pranks that only the infamous Weasley Twins were able to challenge. The huge number of detentions received after each of their 'exploits' had failed to deter them.

As a result, an impartial observer would have felt a certain amount of dread if they had watched the Golden Trio on that cloudy day of winter. The Hogwarts Express was about to leave in about five minutes, and the three notorious Gryffindors were chatting excitedly as they slalomed between the trunks, parents, fellow students, cats and owl cages. The Boy-Who-Lived and his two friends being excited generally resulted in life at Hogwarts turning to be...interesting at best. A war zone at worst, because even the calm and collected Slytherin were known to break a nerve or two when they were drenched in paint, saw the homework they had passed five hours on go up in flames or took hours to console one of their year-mates which had been aggressed in a deserted wing of Hogwarts. The discussion between the three pranksters once they had all been in a locked and sound proof compartment would not have been in the nature of reassurance.

"I have the Polyjuice!" Exclaimed Leo Black.

"Good, good." Said the Longbottom Heir, rubbing his hands together.

"It's of good quality isn't it?" Asked Ron Weasley in an anxious tone. "It isn't going to explode us in the face when we try to drink it?"

Every member of the Golden Trio grimaced lengthily at the reminder of their pet project's failure. Stealing the ingredients they needed from Snape's stores had been an easy thing. Making the Polyjuice Potion had been anything but. Aside from its dangerous potential when used in illegal activities, there was a reason why the Polyjuice instructions had been in the Forbidden Section of the Library. It was terribly hard to brew. The creation of Polyjuice required at least the level of a fifth year student at Hogwarts, and an excellent student in Potions with average grades of Exceeding Expectations at that.

Neither Ron nor Leo and Neville had that level of skills or anywhere the tenth of it in Potions. Their first attempts had melted the cauldron and the floor in the toilets of Moaning Myrtle in less than a day when something went wrong with the fluxweed. The second had been rendered inactive by a fault in their timing when it had been the moment to add a few leaves of knotgrass. The third had exploded when they were in detention with Snape. The less said about the fourth and fifth, the better. None of their five attempts had lasted more than three days and the Potion was supposed to last a month. Considering Potions was by far their worst class, thanks to the rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors as well as the dark presence of Professor Severus 'Snivellus' Snape, and the odds of obtaining a passable Potion this way went to insurmountable. Searching other Gryffindors with the brewing required abilities had gotten nowhere. Lavender Brown was worst than them in this academic field. Fay Dunbar scored regularly Dreadful or Poor on her class assignments. Thelma Holmes was strong in non-practical courses, but weak when it came to put this knowledge in the cauldron. Dean Thomas had managed to complete one Potion correctly since the beginning of this year, and it had been in all likelihood an accident. The pairing of the Muggle-born football-addict with Seamus Finnigan, a boy who happened to create magical accidents as soon as his wand was free to act, usually left the container with ashes in it by the end of the hour. The two best students of the Gryffindor second-years, Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert, were partnered together in the dungeons and did not speak a word to the New Marauders anymore; they probably would prefer to vomit in their cauldron than help them brew Polyjuice. An unfortunate effect of the motions they had pushed against the "beaver" and the "coward", the nicknames they had given to the least popular Lions.

The door of their fellow second -years being closed, the Golden Trio had gone to the upper years but there too they had met deception after deception. Except Percy Weasley, who was in love with the rules and commandments of Hogwarts and thus totally unsuitable as an accomplice, the number of Gryffindors currently continuing Potions after their OWLS was null. Between third-year and fifth, the only competent candidates were the Weasley Twins, but who knew what the Twin Terrors would do with a cauldron full of Polyjuice? Better not to think about it. As for the others sixth and seventh years, they were generally too busy with their classes and studies to add such a monumental charge of Potions on their busy schedule.

"Relax, Ron." Affirmed smoothly Leo Black. "I used some of the old contacts of my father with retired Hit-Wizards to buy this Potion. This brew is the best quality you can buy without going to the Ministry and officially hiring a Potion Master to do it."

Technically it was not the only means to procure yourself Polyjuice, but it was one of the safest. Polyjuice, like a lot of magical artefacts, heirlooms, knowledge and other materials, could be ordered in Knockturn Alley and the other shadier and less respectable magical places of England, Wales and Scotland. Unfortunately, you could never be sure of the Potions quality norms which had been bought. The majority of the wizard and witches in Wizarding Britain having a tiny piece of Potions knowledge knew Polyjuice was a Ministry-controlled substance, thus suing somebody when the potion failed to change a single nail or an eyebrow of your normal appearance was impossible. On the other hand, there were always some persons in the Ministry who were corrupt enough to agree to a fast bargain for a few galleons. The Heir of House Black had just used the knowledge he had of this situation for their latest scheme.

"Okay, okay." The red-haired boy was calmer than he had been a moment ago. "How many doses do you have?"

"Five."

"That's not a lot." Said thoughtfully Neville. "I had hoped we would have more, enough to interrogate Malfoy, Nott and all the Slytherins who have spoken against the Muggle-borns when the Heir of Slytherin attacked. With five doses, we will have barely enough for Malfoy and his group."

"I propose we use four on the Slytherins." Suggested Leo. "Ron and I take the place of Crabbe and Goyle to ask Malfoy if he's the Heir of Slytherin or not. Neville, you take the place of Vaisey, he's always following Nott so it should not be difficult to convince him to talk."

"And the fourth?" Asked Neville in a neutral voice, not openly disagreeing with the plan.

"Convince Lavender to impersonate Millicent Bulstrode."

"How I am supposed to do that?" Neville demanded, before taking an uncomfortable expression under the smirks of Ron and Leo. "Oh, right. Gossip material. Who will she spy on?"

"Parkinson and the Carrow twins, they've been mocking those petrified in the attacks since Halloween. If she has time, any Slytherin girl who has a Death Eater relative and is not imprisoned at Azkaban." Leo added the second part of the sentence as an afterthought. Frankly, the chances of the three named girls being the mastermind of the petrifying attacks was remote, but it was not like they knew the older students at all. Most of them had not been shouting pure-blood slogan and insults like Malfoy and his gorillas anyway.

"Any candidate for the fifth dose?"

"Potter." Snarled venomously Ron, and Neville simply gave a sign of assent. The popularity of the Potter Heiress in Gryffindor tower had reached new lows after she had intervened in the little ambush where Neville had planned to give the Snakes a memorable lesson. The fact the second-year girl had held her own and defeated many older students against what would qualify as overwhelming numerical superiority had been a very sobering point for the Lions. During the entirety of their first-year, it had been the Ravenclaws who had propagated the rumours of Alexandra Potter being a Dark Lady. The Gryffindors had followed because it had been amusing, well that and James Potter had betrayed House Longbottom after all. Now after getting their heads handed to them by two second-year girls, the rumours were not sounding as ridiculous as they had before.

"Okay." Sighed Leo. "Who is going to talk to her and under what look?"

"Potter is always with MacDougal, Granger and Wolpert." Grunted Ron. "MacDougal is a Ravenclaw, so her quarters are off limits but we can easily grab some hair of Granger and Wolpert in the dormitories."

"And who will do it?" Neville demanded. "Malfoy is easy, he provokes us every day. But we never speak with Potter or anyone of the Exiled." The nickname of this group of four had become official by November at Hogwarts, though there were some variations. The Outcasts for example.

"I will do it!" Proclaimed Ron. "I will take Wolpert place, Potter will never see it coming!" Neville Longbottom and Leo Black exchanged deep stares. Ron Weasley was their friend, but there was no point to pretend subtlety and cunning weren't foreign qualities to him. Giving him a task to deceive a Ravenclaw - one who was acknowledged as far more intelligent and dangerous than Draco Malfoy would ever be - was the first step on a disastrous path. Not they were going to say it out loud, of course.

"No offence, Ron, but Potter will see that you're not Nigel Wolpert the moment you open the mouth. You don't have the same accent, the same background or the same mannerisms. You are also complete opposite in behaviour." Nigel Wolpert was timid and shy in public; Ron Weasley was loud and vocal. No way it was going to work in a thousand years. "No, we need a girl for this to work."

"Lavender again?" Sniggered the son of Sirius Black. "We are going to owe her a lot of favours..."

"As long as she doesn't decide to transfer them in Marriage Contracts..." Told the Boy-Who-Lived with a frown marring his face and ignoring the laughter coming from his two friends. "But I was thinking about Parvati for this one."

"The more people we involve in this search..." Reminded him his black-haired friend, taking a more comfortable posture on the train seat.

"I know...I know!" Repeated Neville. "But Parvati is resourceful enough to pass as Granger for an hour, I think. And she is a girl, so I suppose they can discuss...girl things if Potter does not talk about the Heir."

"Can Parvati ask what she did to torment Chudley? He's still trembling as soon as we go near this horrible orange creature..."

"Oh, come on Ron! Chudley is a rat and cats eat rats! Nothing more complicated to understand." The voice of Neville had taken an amused tone. A feeling absolutely not shared by the youngest of the Weasleys boys.

"I tell you mate. This thing... I don't know what it is, but it's not a cat. It knows when we're speaking about it!"

"Now you're getting really ridiculous." Chided Leo. "Next time, you will tell us the cat is playing chess with the Ravenclaws in their Common Room!"

* * *

On the other side of Hogwarts Express and at that very moment, a huge ginger cat took a satisfied expression and purred loudly on the trunk where he was perched, attracting the attention of the three girls and the boy sitting in the compartment.

"Hermione, your cat is purring again." Remarked Morag.

"Maybe Crookshanks wants to help you play chess, Alex." Said absently Hermione, turning a page from the large and heavy Transfiguration book she had begun to read at King's Cross Station. "You seem to need the help."

"Nonsense." Replied the Potter Heiress, with a wave of her hand in her black hair. "What could possibly give you that idea?"

"Common sense." Said soberly the bushy-haired Gryffindor. "Common sense and knowledge of the rules."

Alexandra couldn't stop a grimace from appearing on her face. Throwing a look at the exchequer, her four black pieces were still in the same position they had been ten seconds before. One king, one knight, one queen and one rook, all in midnight colour, were facing twice their number of white opponents. And her king was looking more and more exposed to the moves of the opposing white knight.

"Okay it is not going well," admitted Alexandra. "But now the games are far longer than they were when I began to play against Morag in December. I am learning."

This was not a self laudation: when she had started to play with her year-mate the chess engagements were ending with her defeat in less than twenty moves. Now it was taking three times that length.

"Speaking of learning..." Intervened Nigel with bits of lettuce in his hands he was gifting through the bars of the cage to Smokey his Firecrab hybrid. "Has someone managed to gain information on the Chamber of Secrets?"

The atmosphere became instantly less joyous and more subdued in the compartment. While they had been away from the castle, it had been easy to pretend the situation wasn't serious. But now, on their way to the place where the petrifactions had occurred, the eagerness to pretend everything was normal was dissipating.

"Morag's parents didn't know anything about it." Alexandra told the two Lions, with the MacDougal Heiress nodding to confirm her words. "According to them, it was more a nasty rumour spread by Slytherins when they were at school in the seventies. Something used by the Snakes to threaten the students they bullied."

"But there was no petrifaction? Nothing at all?" Asked Hermione, biting worriedly her upper lip.

"Well there was a rumour..." Began Alexandra.

"It was never confirmed." Interjected Morag, her blue-eyes narrowing and her posture screaming how she was ill-at-ease.

"Sure. But some pure-blood and the Slytherins students of the seventies were openly saying their supreme leader was the Heir of Slytherin. And it was a claim they apparently continued to spread during the last civil war."

"Who-Know-Who?" Nigel Wolpert was literally shaking in fear.

Alexandra rolled her eyes. Honestly, the fear the British witches and wizards had to pronounce a dead wizard's name was half-comical half-pathetic. The man had been killed by Neville Longbottom the Boy-Who-Lived, he wasn't going to come out the next wardrobe with a "BOOH!" That and Voldemort sounded like an alias. There was no way this could be the real name of the Dark Lord. You didn't give birth to someone and called him Voldemort. This just wasn't serious. Alas, no one could deny the Voldemort persona had made a frightening impression on Wizarding Britain.

"Like I said, it was never confirmed." Repeated Morag in an imperious voice. "Pretending to be the Heir of one of the Hogwarts Founders cost nothing; proving it with the legal documentation and getting it confirmed by the Wizengamot is pretty expensive. You-Know-Who never tried to claim this title the legal way; as a result his words are just that: a claim."

"Another dead-end?" Demanded Hermione.

"No." Alexandra suddenly understood. "It all fits."

"I don't understand." Morag hadn't followed her way of thinking.

"I think I do." Hermione affirmed. "Alex, do you think-?"

The Potter Heiress made a large positive nod with her head.

"What are you saying?" Nigel demanded, giving the last part of lettuce to his pet.

"What if Voldemort had opened the Chamber of Secrets while he was studying here in the forties or fifties?" Asked rhetorically Alexandra, ignoring the fear on Morag and Nigel's face as she spoke the dreaded name. "What if the reason the Slytherin felt confident the Heir of Slytherin was this Dark Lord because he had already opened the Chamber and shared the news with them?"

"It could explain a lot of things." Said Hermione in a thoughtful tone, as the train passed in a tunnel to reappear in the English countryside illuminated by a faint winter sun.

"There's only a small problem with your logic." Huffed Morag. "How has the Chamber of Secrets been opened now? Assuming You-Know-Who is the Heir of Slytherin, the man is dead. He's not going to stroll inside the castle under Dumbledore's nose and unleash the Monster of the Chamber on all of us!"

To her regret, the raven-haired Ravenclaw had nothing to explain this discrepancy. "Maybe the Heir explained to one of his subordinates how to do it?" She tried.

"Bloody unlikely I think." Smirked Morag. "Do you think You-Know-Who would tell his secrets to Lucius Malfoy or one of the other Death Eaters in liberty? His most loyal servants are at Azkaban. Everyone knows that."

"Language!" Exclaimed Hermione, before being distracted by Crookshanks jumping in her arms.

"But Morag has a point." Nigel bad attitude appeared to have resurfaced, his voice was barely audible.

"She has several, in fact." Alexandra shrugged. "I'm going to search the Daily Prophet archives but don't keep your hopes up. The more we dig, the more I suspect someone has made sure to bury everything concerning the Chamber of Secrets."

An unpleasant realisation, but one which was leaving few other options after the mountain of research the two Gryffindors and the two Ravenclaws has done. Hermione was able to find her way through the large and inefficient bureaucracy of the magical world, and Morag has the contacts her blood and her family entitled her. Nigel, with a father diplomat, completed the picture. And Alexandra herself had a good knowledge of non-magical myths and legends. One of the four finding no information would have been the norm. Two would have been surprising, but not completely stretching the realm of possibilities. Four however, was the sign the information they had made their quest to discover had disappeared or never existed in the first place. Behind her livid green eyes, Alexandra wasn't sure what explanation she liked the least.

"Everywhere we turn, we have more questions. Never answers." It was a statement bordering on the side of complaint from Hermione, and the worst part was that it was ringing true. It was frustrating.

"Rome wasn't built in a day." Replied philosophically Alexandra.

"Nor by us." Added Morag, her bright red hair reflecting the descending winter sun in a red corona.

After this last remark, the topic was closed. They bought some Pumpkin Pastries and Chocolate Frogs from the trolley lady to go with their sandwiches and drinks, and afterwards discussed of the future lessons they were going to assist once they were back at the castle. The sky outside was growing darker and darker, and snow was now present not far from the railroad. Despite the lack of indication, it was more likely than not they were in Scotland now.

Nigel exited the compartment for a few minutes to give Hermione the time to change in her wizarding robes. Morag and Alexandra had arrived from MacDougal Manor by Portkey in the morning with their robes and the rest of the Hogwarts uniform already on them so the affair was short-timed and not a quarter of an hour after the voice of the train driver announced they were approaching the station of Hogsmeade.

The train stopped not five minutes after this message, and a large crowd emerged from the red and long transportation means into a frozen atmosphere, so cold Alexandra shivered under her warm winter cloak. There was snow everywhere and in the night of Scotland illuminated only by the lights of the nearby village, the Express and the station, the Forbidden Forest in the distance was a gloomy presence.

"What does take them so much time?" Complained Hermione. It was not clear what was doing it, but the flow of their progression towards the carriages supposed to lead them to Hogwarts was slowing noticeably.

It was then the screams of fear began. Thankfully there were no signs of battle or of mass panic: given that over four hundred boys and girls were packed in a compact block on an icy soil, running could have resulted in trampling and serious injuries for a lot of the participants. In the middle of the crowd, the group of four saw nothing and it was not before the Prefects managed to convince the progression to resume Alexandra had the opportunity to see what had scared the vanguard of the Hogwarts students.

It was a Thestral. Or rather, the remnants of one. The magical part-lizard part-horse part-bird creature had been...butchered. Massacred. One of its wings had been completely separated from its body, its torso had been torn open with the intestines spilled everywhere and there were deep lacerations all across the body but the worst wounds were on the head and a deep hole was in the middle of the throat. Okay, what had used to be a throat. Maybe. It was difficult to judge with all this blood and Alexandra had to fight the urge to vomit.

One look was more than sufficient for Alexandra to know no predator or carnivorous magical species had done the deed. An animal preying on the Thestrals would have at least eaten part of the body, although she was uncertain if these curious coursers were digestible. But the murderer who had killed here had not been interested in feeding. It had been a means to pass a message...and a way to unleash its viciousness and depravity because only a monster would have massacred an animal like that.

To echo her reasoning, on the snow littered with blood could be seen a message painted in the same bright red colour.

MUDBLOODS LEAVE HOGWARTS

THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN HAS WARNED YOU

As she mounted on a carriage behind Hermione, the green-eyed Ravenclaw heard Morag grumble something about Hogwarts security being a joke.

"Don't worry, Morag." The Potter Heiress smirked. "I'm sure Dumbledore will try to reassure us by saying the attack was out of the Hogwarts grounds and we are perfectly safe in the castle."

"If it's the case, maybe we should ask the DLME to intervene?" Asked Nigel in a hopeful tone disguising badly potential relief.

"But they will need the Headmaster permission to enter the grounds, no?" Hermione's voice was not exactly thrilling with enthusiasm. "I mean, they can investigate outside the wards of the castle, but unless they have proof the culprit is one of the students or the professors..."

"Exactly." Confirmed Morag. "No Auror will pass the gates until there's something Dumbledore can't cover. Then the DMLE will be able to intervene. If it isn't too late."

The discussion ultimately ended there before the Thestrals deposed them in front of the marble stairs. Everyone had a good idea how bad this year had started. One night and blood had already been shed. The Exiled had just to hope the rest of the school year wasn't going to be worse.

* * *

 **4 January 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

It was two hours past midnight in what every human who didn't have magical powers would consider the middle of nowhere. Pardon, the middle of nowhere in Scotland. Some hills, some mountains, some forests. Most of the animals were hibernating in this season, and the density of non-magical beings in the area was close to zero. The sky was covered by a ceiling of grey clouds not letting any moonlight pass. The snow was forming a white carpet around the ancient magical school of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The grounds were frozen and silent. In appearance, all was calm in the thousand-year old castle.

Appearances could and in that case were deceiving. At the gatehouse marking the limit between the lands marked by the Founders as theirs and the outer areas of Hogsmeade, a small group had formed at the light of three enchanted torches. The building had not been built with human comfort in mind: four walls of stone decorated with various animal representations and a simple lever to open the gates manually should a problem in the wards require it. There was no chimney or place to lit a good source of fire, so all the witches and wizards present were in their winter clothes, which meant large furred cloaks and capes enchanted to keep the warmest temperatures around the human bodies wearing them.

In this case though, the charms were looking hardly necessary. A large majority of the persons present were angry enough to make smoke coming out of their ears. Of course, the reason for this rage was in part standing in front of them. It was an ungodly hour to stand in the cold, and magic or not the regular forces of the Auror Corps enjoyed sleeping in a warm bed as much as the common wizard.

"...and so I'm afraid my boy, that I can't allow authorise you to search Hogwarts without the benediction of Minister Fudge and the signatures of the Board of Governors." Headmaster Dumbledore emitted one of his mysterious half-smiles over his glasses. "The incident has taken place outside the grounds the Charter recognises as belonging to Hogwarts, and the rules are clear on this point-"

The patience of one of the half-dozen Aurors in red robes listening this condescending speech finally arrived at its end. The wizard, a brown-haired man in his thirties wearing a neat beard and mild black eyes, screamed in his haste to release himself of the words he erupted.

"The rules? The rules! Someone used over ten of the Darkest Curses below the Unforgivables to slaughter an animal in front of your door and you're concerned about some rules?"

"That's enough Williamson!" Barked the Auror leading the formation.

"But-"

"I said enough!" Repeated the leader of the Auror platoon, Senior Auror Lester Hudson, sending the nastiest dark look he could at his undisciplined subordinate. "You have done sufficient damage here. Report to the Ministry at once, you're on paperwork duty until the end of the week!"

Auror Williamson didn't protest anymore, recognising the wordless threat conveyed by the glare of his superior, and left the gate house in all haste to reach the limit of the grounds where Apparition became possible.

"Good choice, my boy-"

"My name is Senior Auror Lester Hudson, Chief Warlock." Growled the platoon leader of the Aurors, a black-haired man with brown eyes. "Not my boy or anyone of your little names."

"I'm sure-"

"I don't know what game you're playing, here Chief Warlock Dumbledore." Hudson's tone was angry, but unlike Williamson there remained a veneer of civility, thanks to decades having escorted Wizengamot and diverse politicians to one conference or another. "All my Aurors know of the special status of Hogwarts, and you perfectly know we have no intention to impose any kind of Ministry authority over the school. We are here to catch a criminal. And you are doing your best to hinder us."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Had it been any other situation, the half-dozen persons listening this would have shed tears at the incredibly remorseful tone the Supreme Mugwump. But the Aurors were not trained and screened harshly to be caught by the first flimsiest excuse sent to block their way. And the silver-haired man before them was obviously lying with the virtuosity of a maestro.

"Oh no, you aren't." The expression of Lester Hudson turned into a smile, but his blue eyes remained cold and grim. "In your place, I would ensure there are no more accidents or incidents for the rest of the year near Hogwarts."

"Is this a threat?" The tone of the Hogwarts Headmaster was mild and unconcerned. A spike of anger flared in the chest of the Senior Auror, before reminding himself of the status and the influence of his interlocutor. Whether he liked it or not, the wizard at the head of the largest school of Magical Britain was one if not the most influential man of the British Isles. Antagonising him would not grant him a letter of congratulations from London. In all likelihood it would in fact freeze his career advancements for the next decade.

"No. It's an advice." Choose to reply the Head Auror instead, as calmly as he could. "Should a similar crime be reported inside Hogwarts, the DMLE will have no choice but to intervene. My intention was to prevent such a situation from happening in the first place."

"I will take your words into consideration, my boy." Told Dumbledore in his grandfather, wise wizard-tone. An attitude which made frown half of the Aurors on site. It was limpid Dumbledore had all but voiced he was going to do the exact opposite. "But it is rather late! I will continue this conversation with Amelia and the Minister tomorrow. I wish you the best for the rest of your investigation."

And on this the Defeater of Grindelwald vanished with his phoenix in a column of flames, leaving the Aurors alone in the gatehouse.

"Well," Said an Auror behind Lester Hudson. "He's as cooperative as he was twenty years ago when I was in Slytherin."

Five of the witches and wizards representing the DMLE on this dark night of January emitted guffaws and small chuckles before leaving the gatehouse to return to their headquarters.


	35. Identity Theft

**Chapter 35**

 **Identity Theft**

 **6 January 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Marcus Flint was not a happy Slytherin. No, Marcus Flint was not a happy Slytherin at all in this beginning of the year 1993 as he left the History classroom and the boring, monotonous voice of Professor Binns followed by the rest of the few sixth-years having taken the course. Marching with a steady, implacable rhythm on the third floor, the scion of House Flint, as distant and complicated his position from the Lordship was - eleventh in the succession for those in the know - harboured a stone-face expression. And he had excellent reasons for his bad mood.

Four months ago, the sixth-year had been extremely optimistic. Marcus had managed to pass six OWLS in June at his exams. At his second try but still. Charms, Potions, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Except Potions, all achieved with grades allowing him to continue to the NEWTS classes. In spite of the loss of the Cup at the hands of the Ravenclaw team, Professor Snape had maintained him his confidence and kept him at the post of Captain. Marcus was gaining more and more influence in the ranks of Slytherin House, always a good thing to create his own information network and support future career prospects.

Then the news had come that Lord Malfoy had bought seven brand-new Nimbus 2001 for the Slytherin Quidditch Team and Marcus Flint had been certain it was going to be the best year ever. Brand-new brooms normally only owned by world-class players, a new Seeker having plenty of new motivation and six other players boosted from head to toes at the chance of taking their revenge against their Gryffindor arch-enemies, how could it have been otherwise? At the time, Marcus had even envisaged one victory to ask on a date this pretty blond-haired Ravenclaw. Yes, the year should have been perfect.

January had now begun, and most of these ambitions were in ashes. The sixth-year Slytherin was succeeding in his classes of Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, but was failing Defence, Astronomy and History. And with Lockhart teaching Defence and Binns being as boring as ever, the odds were good no one was going to learn the spells and the information needed for the NEWTS anyway. One more year of self-study in these two subjects, like the year before with Quirell and Devkins had not been enough!

To make matters worse, the Nimbus 2001 had revealed themselves a flawed advantage in the match against Gryffindor, albeit one which could have still given them victory...if their Seeker had passed his time searching for the Snitch and not laughing at the problems of the Boy-Who-Lived! Rarely had Marcus felt so angry after the final thrill of the referee had ended this debacle. Despite the problems in the braking charms and enchantments of the Nimbus, they should have won the match! Should the main target of his ire had not been a Malfoy, the Flint teenager would have killed the imbecile responsible of this humiliation. And damn the paperwork and the consequences for his future.

The last months had not rebounded after this fiasco. As tempting as it had been to kick Draco Malfoy out of the team, the alternatives were slim. Terence Higgs had not pardoned him of his unilateral removal in September, and in good Slytherin accepting him back would have implicated a lot of favours neither Marcus nor the rest of the team were willing to bargain. Training a Seeker took time, time which was more or less inexistent in the long months of winter when trying to mount a broom outside made half of the school question your mental sanity. School-wise, there was now a mysterious Heir of Slytherin stalking the corridors, petrifying Mudbloods of the lower years. Those who had had Death Eaters relatives were enjoying boost in terms of popularity in the Snake's Den. The rest of the House was understandably more worried. For all assurances from braggarts like Nott and Malfoy that the Heir was going to purge the castle from the non-deserving vermin of the Squibs and the Mudbloods, these attacks were of a dark magic Marcus had never seen before. Should a Pure-blood suffer the same fate, he would be as petrified as the students lying in the infirmary. A few seventh years predicted it was the first sign of the Dark Lord's return. Marcus Flint prayed it wasn't true.

Officially, Marcus was a supporter of blood-purity of course. As it should be, when his family was a core part of the Dark Houses. But the Slytherin Captain wasn't a believer in the Dark Lord philosophy. Two of his uncles had fought in the war under the banner of The-One-Who-Must-Not-be-Named. Both of them had never come back, and the sole aunt that invited his parents several times for week-end lunches had shared with him nightmarish tales. Suicide missions, torture sessions for those who failed in their duties, black rituals darkening your very soul. Suddenly, the organisation of the Death Eaters had not been that much attractive. Moreover, five of the Flint businesses had been bankrupted by the war, their French partners refusing to trade anymore due to their blood-status positions. The contracts had never been renewed and thus their cauldrons, creatures and ingredients imports had disappeared. Besides, the Dark Lord had been vanquished by a child. What sort of leader was brought that low and that easily?

Unfortunately, this opinion was a sizeable minority but a minority nonetheless in Slytherin House. Many Heirs and Heiresses of the Dark Houses were eager to see the Heir purge Hogwarts from the people they believed inferior. Lewis Wilkes had made numerous speeches in the Common Rooms in November and December how it was their duty to purge the unworthy from the school. Thomson Carrow and Jared Miller were paying some of their fellow sixth and fifth years to beat the younger Lions. With the Gryffindor fighting back proudly carrying the standards of the Light, the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff standing aside and refusing to involve themselves in the corridor duels, speaking out loud in public against one vision or the other was a sure way to be sent to the infirmary. Being a Slytherin was already a guarantee to be scrutinised like you had the plague by three-quarters of the student population. Marcus range of career prospects was dying down, and he was not yet in seventh year.

A muffed grunt coming from a broom closet on his left interrupted these morose thoughts. Intrigued, Marcus Flint approached it, but drew his wand just in case. A couple of years at Hogwarts with the Weasley Twins had taught everyone wearing a snake emblem the need to be extremely careful when dealing with something weird or unknown. The arrival of the New Marauders on the prank business had made the problems magnitude worse.

"Alohomora!"

The door of the closet opened in full, revealing Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Byron Vaisey and Millicent Bulstrode, all tied up in red and gold ropes and with red scarves on their mouths to muffle any exclamations and groans. Not that it was necessary. The four second-years were all unconscious. What Marcus had heard was not a grunt, but a rumble of Goyle' stomach.

"The Lions again..." Muttered angrily Marcus. "You!" The sixth year Slytherin shouted to a Hufflepuff passing by. "Go warn Professor Snape! We have second-years who have just been attacked!"

Really any Professor would do, but their Head of House would not lead the issue stay idle as the majority of Dumbledore lackeys had the habit to. Now the objective was to bring Crabbe and the others to the infirmary without a minimum of students being aware of the details. One of the unwritten rules of House Slytherin was to never display weakness in public.

"Wait a minute..." Grunted Cassius Warrington, who marching on Flint's heels had been one of the first to arrive on scene among the small group of Slytherin. A quick Wingardium Leviosa from his wand had already made Vaisey levitate while Adrian Pucey was dealing with Goyle and Marcus himself was freeing Bulstrode from her bounds. "I saw these four walk in the direction of our Common Room two hours ago!"

"That's impossible!" Affirmed Derrick, one of the Beaters of the Slytherin Quidditch Team who had taken the hard duty of levitating Crabbe large and immobile body to the infirmary. "They could not be both in this closet and in the dungeons!"

In other circumstances, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team would have told a few words to Peregrine Derrick for his tendency to state the very obvious in public but this wasn't the time.

"The one you saw in the dungeons were likely imposters, Cassius." Said Flint in a grim tone, not satisfied of the pace they were marching on towards the infirmary with the four victims, nor was he of the rapidity a small crowd was forming to see their passage. "I don't know how they did it but..."

"I will sound the alert," Proclaimed Bole, the other Slytherin Beater, as slow as always when it came to intelligence and cunning. "We will not let them enter our Common Room!" And the bulky boy ran behind a tapestry to take a secret passage leading to the lower areas of the dungeons.

Flint said nothing, but a few stares to the other Slytherins levitating the second-years or watching in the crowd convinced him that his suspicions of being too late to stop the attackers were alas true. And with Bole's complete lack of subtlety, the attackers would be warned by their friends long before there was an opportunity to catch them in the act.

"Montague, go to the Prefects and search who was not in class this afternoon." Ordered Flint. Bole's effort would certainly go to waste, but there was still a chance if the culprits had not thoughts about potential alibis. "Professor Snape will want the names of the culprits and we will give them."

"Right on it." Promised his Slytherin interlocutor. "I will begin with the Weasley Twins and the Golden Trio, and then search the rest of the Gryffindors."

"Good." Snarled the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team in a tone which made evident it really wasn't. "Let's hope no one in the Common Room was idiotic enough to answer the questions of these imposters."

* * *

"Only listening to my courage and my sense of daring, both of which had never failed me before, I jumped from the roof on the back of the biggest werewolf in sight! Mounting their alpha would be surely a moment of terrible humiliation for this pack of beasts, and I was quite certain one of his subordinates would defy this monster as soon as I had tied him in ropes! But it was not easy, no dear students! The black-furred werewolf tried to dismount me at every step it took and it was thanks to an ingenious combination of the Expulsion Charm and Transfiguring my knife into silver I emerged victorious! The alpha was unconscious, and without it the rest of the werewolves fell upon themselves, fighting for supremacy and the right to kill me! One minute after, I was the only survivor, standing proudly and magnificently over this glorious battlefield, having saved the village and the rest of the province from this horrible threat! The merry visages of these poor villagers free from this threat made me smile with joy and contentment..."

Alexandra yawned in annoyance, slightly rising her head from the Potions essay she was writing. If any Senior Professor like Flitwick or McGonagall had tried to use their classes to recount tales of their exploits, there would have been a good attendance and many students would have applauded to mark the end of such a long tirade. Flitwick had been a renowned Duellist in his youth, and Professor McGonagall had participated in many Transfiguration challenges, debates and competitions. For that matter, Alexandra supposed even Professor Snape, as ludicrous as the idea of the Slytherin head telling something amusing was, could have notes or typos to share. But the man who just had finished speaking was the pompous and narcissist Gilderoy Lockhart. Bane of the Dark Forces, Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile and an adult so arrogant his supposed exploits were celebrated to the heavens at least twice per day by the principal interested.

"Please someone kill him..." Whispered Terry Boot two ranks behind the desk Alexandra shared with Nigel.

"Praise the Valar..."

"Do you want to know the end of this exciting and astounding adventure of Gilderoy Lockhart?"

 _No_ , thought Alexandra, appealing to whatever deities existed in the magical pantheons to give her infinite patience. In spite of this being a Defence Against Dark Arts class, she had passed the last hour writing the homework she was due for History, Herbology, Astronomy and then Potions. With Lockhart lost in his interminable tirades, there was no risk in doing something more productive academically. But earplugs or muffs like those worn in Herbology could not be brought in this class, and listening Lockhart was horrible for her nerves. Since the Cornish Pixies incident, Wednesday afternoon was officially her least favourite moment of the week.

"It will be for next week my good and extraordinary students!"

On this last exclamation of the fraud, the bell rang, letting the flow of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors charge outside the class with alacrity. Well to be fair, the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindors who had bothered to come. The number was in constant diminution since September and it was unlikely it would climb up until the end of the year's exams. By the start of the Winter Holidays, every alumnus of Hogwarts which was not a rabid fan-girl of Lockhart had realised Defence Against the Dark Arts was a course worked in self-study and self-study alone. Without Lockhart books, needless to say.

Professor Flitwick had not authorised the members of Ravenclaw House to avoid the course entirely, and there was a limit to the number of diseases, cold, illnesses or moral breakdown a student could suffer each Wednesday. As a consequence, the Ravens assisted to this joke of magical teaching in turn. Well, in turn except Morag and Alexandra. The rest of their housemates were definitely not inclined in sharing with them old archives or covering their absences.

But the presence of six Ravens today to assist Lockhart representation was far superior to the effectives of the Lions having been seated. Excepted Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert, the only other Gryffindor sitting today in the Defence room had been Fay Dunbar. Alexandra didn't know where the other first-years of the House of red and gold had gone, but it hadn't been in the DADA's room. Not that they had missed much, to be fair.

Taking her bag with the intention of going back to their Common Room, Alexandra groaned under the sheer weight of the books she was forced to carry in the crowded corridor. With the columns of Hogwarts students navigating in this part of the castle, Morag was trying and failing valiantly to march to her right side.

"Where has Hermione gone?" Asked Alexandra. Nigel was approximately ten steps behind the two Ravenclaw girls, twice he avoided being trampled by a band of fourth-years Hufflepuffs travelling in herd.

"I think I saw her go to the library for her History homework." Intervened Nigel, shouting to make himself heard in the racket originating from scores of children conversations and exclamations.

"But you had Professor Tiroflan only this morning!" Unlike the Ravenclaws who had Double Potions on Wednesday morning, the Gryffindors had Double History. More commonly known by the older students by nicknames like 'great nap-time' or the 'class where bringing a pillow is mandatory' when Binns was the teacher. Junior Professor Tiroflan, the laziest person in the millenary institution by a wide and large margin, had not changed from his behaviour of 1991 and 1992, doing as little work as possible and giving assignments he rarely bothered to read, much less to grade fairly and give back to their owners. It made of course working on them a task best done at the latest time possible.

"What I can say," Nigel grumbled, "Hermione is an over-achiever..."

"Truer words have never been spoken..." Murmured the red-haired Ravenclaw in a soft voice which was ignored by everyone save Alexandra and Nigel.

The path to the upper floors where the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Common Rooms were not simple of access at this hour. The second-year students had only two periods of courses per afternoon great maximum, but the third years and every teenager above this level were not that lucky with the addition of the electives, pressing to go for their last classes of the day. Peeves the Poltergeist was his usual disrupting self, having achieved to place a complex trap mixing an armour, several golf balls and a banner of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team in one of the greatest stairs, provoking an incredible chaos when two Gryffindor girls found themselves the recipient of this nasty prank.

"With Filch petrified, Peeves is becoming bloodily annoying!" Shouted Morag, her red hair forming her usual corona and her blue eyes launching deep glares to the Poltergeist. A few feet nearer, and she would have shared the same fate as the Lions having received the full weight of the Middle Ages' protection. "Is there no one to reign in him?"

Alexandra sent her a confused look. Before the caretaker had been attacked by the so-called Heir of Slytherin, Peeves had already manifested this enjoyment for chaos and except the ghost called the Bloody Baron, no one of authority had made a lot of efforts to 'reign him in'.

"Oh, right." The shoulders of Morag partially collapsed. "But I will relay this to the Bloody baron!"

"I think you're wasting your time but go ahead." Affirmed cheekily Alexandra.

"Oh, I know. But it will make me feel so much better!" Replied the MacDougal Heiress.

Taking another secret passage behind a statue and mountain a dusty pair of stairs, Alexandra's sense of smell was suddenly assaulted by a powerful odour. An odour and a noise of footsteps that preceded the arrival of...Hermione?

"You were quick today!" Remarked Morag, turning another corner and passing in front of two set of armours brandishing polished axes. "Was the library closed today?"

"Or Crookshanks was a naughty big cat?" Added Alexandra innocently, with a smile which didn't touch her eyes. The person walking now with them had the appearance of Hermione Granger, yes. Bushy brown hair, check. Fair light skin check. Brown eyes, check. But there were a lot of things...off. Hermione's bag, a martyr object if there ever was one, had been full of books in Lockhart's class and was now close to empty. The usual curbed posture, forced by the constant weight of hundreds of library books, was inexistent. The pace she was walking on was not her normal, frenetic walk but calmer and longer strides. The witch robes she wore had the correct Gryffindor uniform but looked to be a more expensive model than the one Morag used, and the MacDougal Heiress had the most expensive set of clothes in the Exiled group.

"This replaceable piece of fur..." Groaned the girl, making Alexandra stop on her tracks and draw her wand as their little group of four arrived in a deserted corridor a little distance away from the Ravenclaw Common Room. "Have you discovered who is the Heir of Slytherin?" Pronounced the bushy-haired girl, not realising Nigel had stopped at the same time as Alexandra.

One second later and Alexandra had her magical wand directly pointed between the pretender's eyes.

"Morag, stop. This girl is not Hermione."

"What do you mean I am not Hermione?" The person in front of them was good, Alexandra had to bow her hat to that, but there was an undertone of panic in her voice which couldn't be fully dissimulated.

"I mean you are not you pretend to be. Do you want to know the errors you made, fake Hermione?" Asked Alexandra with a false cheekiness, as Morag and Nigel drew their own wands and respectively pointed them to the back and the stomach of the Gryffindor imposter.

"Okay. You won. Call the Professors." The reflexion of Hermione had turned livid and was now sweating profusely as she faced the combined use of three magical wands emitting flashy sparks.

"First, Hermione always carry more than five books in her school bag." Alexandra enounced in a disinterested tone, ignoring the proposition of not-Hermione. "It was the case in the late Defence class, and she would not have the time to go to the library or her bedroom to depose them."

Alexandra made the sign of 'two' with her fingers.

"Secondly, your entire posture and manners wrong. Hermione doesn't walk, and her speech manners, while sometimes intrusive, are never this abrupt."

Sign 'three' with the fingers.

"Thirdly, contrary to one stranger would have assume, we did and still do research on the Heir of Slytherin. Arriving like that and revealing your ignorance was a huge clue you weren't who you pretended to be.

Fourth, my friend never disdains Crookshanks like that. This ginger cat is one of our mascots, not a 'replaceable piece of fur' like you said it."

"And fifth," said Alexandra touching lightly her nose, "Hermione like me does not put so much perfume on her at any moment of the day. Seriously, you smell so strong with this thing I felt it two corridors away!"

"It's the Oriental Essence of Beauty!" Protested vehemently the person who was obviously not Hermione Granger. "It's the latest trend according to _Witch Weekly_!"

"Whatever." Alexandra said, internally disgusted once could prioritise fashion over common sense in a spying assignment. The good point was that it gave her a good idea of the person hiding behind this ingenious piece of magic. Not many students in Hogwarts, no matter how rich and influential, had access to that sort of product.

"Expelliarmus." The wand in the pocket of the Hermione duplicate flew in Alexandra's right hand. "Petrificus Totalus!"

* * *

"Malfoy is an idiot." Said joyously Ron Weasley. "He spilled everything in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room!"

"He spilled everything he knew." Corrected Leo Black. The expression of the Black Heir was profusely satisfied, but there was an undercurrent of frustration. "He didn't know the identity of the Heir. We are back to step one and all our Polyjuice has gone in the attempt."

"But we got a huge deal of dirt on all the Slytherins of our year," affirmed Neville in a smug tone. "Crabbe, Goyle and Vaisey are so dumb Malfoy and Nott never stopped talking about the Heir and all the rule-breaking they were involved this year. We have them hot and ready to jump...and they don't even realise it!"

"Well, I'm really happy for you and all," Huffed Lavender Brown at the other side of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, back in her Gryffindor robes. "But listening to this bitch of Pansy Parkinson wasn't that fun at all! You promised me gossip, but all I had was pug-face insulting Bulstrode, her parents and her whole House for untold generations! And the Carrow Twins sent me Stinging hexes all the way and I could not jinx them back! When I call back this favour you owe me, Neville Longbottom, it won't be cheap!"

And the brown-haired Gryffindor, widely acknowledged as the Gossip Queen of Hogwarts, left the toilet by almost shattering the door in the process.

"I am going to pay for this, am I not?" Asked the Boy-Who-Lived rhetorically. Leo Black and Ron Weasley nodded wordlessly.

The Longbottom Heir grimaced quite a few seconds.

"Okay we will need a new plan."

"To discover or the Heir or to avoid Lavender's vengeance?" The tone of Leo Black was the one preceding a particularly humorous joke.

"Both. Incendio!" Neville Longbottom's incantation struck the Slytherin robes which had just been used to infiltrate the Viper's Den and promptly reduced them to formless tatters covered in ashes before levitating in the toilets the rest of the compromising evidence.

"Evidence erased. Now let's throw these in a dustbin and go back to the Common Room."

"What about Parvati?" Ron Weasley voice was worried, as the red-haired boy was standing against a pipe marking the middle of Myrtle's demesne. "She should have come back one quarter of an hour ago."

"Either she was delayed..." Started Leo.

"Or Potter found out who she was." Finished the Boy-Who-Lived, already planning contingency issues to limit the potential disaster.

"But I don't think it will be a problem." Continued Neville.

"Are you sure mate?" Ron face and posture explained clearly he not followed the same reasoning.

"Unlike Malfoy, Potter has zero sway with the Board of Governors or the Wizengamot. She is the daughter of a traitor, so nobody will take her word over ours. And my grandmother told me Dumbledore is her magical guardian, no complaint or suing will come if the Headmaster does not want to. We have nothing to fear." Neville explained, slowly regaining his confidence the longer he talked.

"And what do you make of Morag MacDougal?" Leo opposed. "Her family has a lot of influence and she has not a Death Eater past behind her!"

"The moment MacDougal joined Potter and their little group of outcasts was the moment her social life died." Countered dismissively Neville. "And the MacDougal influence is limited to Ireland. At Hogwarts and London, they only play minor and unimportant roles in politics. No, we have very little to fear. We have just to hope the Exiled don't beat up Parvati too badly."

"Yeah," Snorted Ron Weasley. "What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

"Let me repeat all over again, because I don't think I can measure properly the levels of intelligence in this plan. Longbottom and his minions thought I was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"You were one of their main suspects, yes." Said numbly Parvati Patil. The moments since she had being reanimated from Alexandra Body-Bind Curse in an abandoned classroom had obviously been a shock to her. Having her hands tied behind her back and three students, two Ravenclaw and one Gryffindor, soon joined by a very irate Hermione granger, had decreased her courage to the point of non-existence.

"And what sort of facts convinced them of this? Did a genealogical search of my family revealed a past marriage with a Slytherin descendant? Did they have proof I was present at one of the attack scenes? Am I gifted with Parseltongue? Or has the Boy-Who-Lived made a careful investigation and discovered I had never a proper alibi?"

"Errr...no."

"Great." Alexandra did not bother hiding the sarcasm in her attitude and her voice. "May I know the reason why I was singled out then?"

"You fought them to protect Slytherins. And your father was a Death Eater."

"That's their reason?" Parvati nodded vigorously. "Fighting to defend someone being bullied is proof your are a witch with morals and an ethic. Of course, it's something most of the Lions lack in their everyday's life."

"You dare..." Silent and stony glares from Morag, Hermione, Nigel and Alexandra stopped the rest of the sentence.

"As for the subject of Death Eater relatives, I'm afraid I'm not the only one at Hogwarts. Because of the Ministry having accepted these ridiculous 'Imperius' pleads, a quarter of Slytherin House is testing positive to this trait. That we know about."

"There must be about a dozen Ravenclaw too." Added Morag. "Mostly older years."

The face of the Indian girl twitched slightly at that titbit of information. Like she had not been aware her twin sister was in the second-darkest House of Hogwarts.

"They did the same thing with the Slytherin, didn't they? Taking someone appearance and asking them several questions?"

Parvati hesitated briefly, before answering positively a muffled 'yes'.

"You have to admit, it could have worked..." Remarked Nigel.

"No." Answered Alexandra. "Not unless you know the person you impersonate very well, have amazing theatrical skills and your target has an ego bigger than the fortress of Minas Tirith."

"That's the problems which go with Polyjuice Potion." Said Hermione in her teaching tone. "It only copies the appearance of the genetic material you put into the Potion. There are no transfer of memories, no copy of mannerisms."

"Interesting."

"That and it's a very carefully controlled recipe." Noted Morag. "The Ministry had imposed very stringent regulations on its brewing, the potential for misuse of Polyjuice is too great for inheritance questions and usurpation of identity. You need Potions Master level for sure and the payment of a tax on the special ingredients needed. The text of instructions will not be found in the Common Library, maybe in the Restricted Section."

"And the sentence once caught brewing and using it illegally?"

Alexandra had a good idea but it was best to put a bit more pressure on Parvati.

"Brewing Polyjuice without Ministry authorisation is a one-way ticket for Azkaban." Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who had answered. Seeing four heads turn in her direction, the brown-haired witch spoke defensively. "What? Professor Snape spoke of it in a class in December!"

"It must have been only the Gryffindor-Slytherin group, because I sure as Hell don't remember Professor Snape talking about this. And I don't sleep in Potions." Alexandra shrugged. "And using illegal Polyjuice?"

"Anything between heavy fine and a small prison detainment."

"You intent to sent me to jail?" The shriek of Parvati was enough to pierce the eardrums of the boy and the three girls forced to listen it.

"I could argue that if you had respected the law you wouldn't be in danger of making a quick trip to prison, but that would be a tad hypocritical for my taste." Alexandra frowned. "Besides, I doubt you would go to prison one single day or be physically incarcerated in the best of cases. Dumbledore has a soft spot for you the Gryffindors, and I think one of you being caught breaking the rules by me would be enough for an instantaneous dismissal of the charges."

"Professor Dumbledore is just and fair!" The bark had been almost automatic, but Parvati flushed one second after, realising how...submissive this answer could be taken. Plus the group of four was looking at her with pity at the naivety this affirmation implied.

Alexandra sent an ironic look to the fashion-girl before her, before her visage turning deadly serious.

"I am going to forget your pathetic attempt at spying, Parvati, but on the condition you will owe me one favour, to be paid to one of us at a later date."

"And if I refuse?" The brown skin of the Indian twelve-year old was transpiring with anxiety.

"Morag's family has quite a few shares in the Irish newspaper the _Dancing Farfadet_. I think we could arrange a few articles witnessing such a blatant rule-breaking, don't we Morag?"

"Sure, Alex. One of my mother's friends is their lead journalist-investigator."

"What guarantee I have you will respect your part of the deal?" The gossiper of the Patil Twins was plaintive.

The green-eyed witch had a violent envy to curse the Gryffindor witch here and there. How typical of the Lions to doubt the oaths of a person when they themselves did not respect neither the school laws nor the privacy of their schoolmates. This arrogance proved there was something deeply wrong with the House of Godric in her opinion.

"My word. Along with the promise I will make you pay one way or the other if you try to cross me." Alexandra looked the Indian-born girl directly in the eyes. "Do we have a deal?"


	36. Valentine in Hell

**Chapter 36**

 **Valentine in Hell**

 **14 February 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Valentine's Day. Fourteenth day of February in the Year of Grace 1993. A day which was going to live in shame and infamy in the annals of Hogwarts history.

Alexandra first thought when she saw the disaster which had replaced the Great Hall on Valentine's Day was that she had been too sleepy and entered the wrong Scottish castle on this fine morning of February. It was the most rational explanation. Her second thought was to blame Gilderoy Lockhart for the millionth time. Her third was to curse with all her heart the man to be eaten by the Legendary Monster of Slytherin. Their idiot of a Defence Professor deserved no less in her opinion. The voice of Morag MacDougal on her left interrupted these murderous thoughts.

"Alex, if you decide one day to wear that much pink..."

"Yes?"

"Know that I will kill you." Morag affirmed in a tone which left no doubt she would carry the threat. The red-haired Ravenclaw was the best of the group of four, not surprising given her status in the nobility of the Wizarding World, and she seemed to take this affront to Valentine's Day personally. "This goes for you too Hermione."

The threat was not given to Nigel: there was no way a boy would wear the kind of pink clothes Lockhart wore voluntarily.

"Please." Huffed the genius resident of Gryffindor Tower. "I dress better than Alexandra, and there's no way we will be caught in the pink dresses Professor Lockhart loves."

Alexandra nodded vigorously in approval. That she loved wearing jeans plus shirts and other non-magical clothes at the first opportunity didn't mean she would approve to wear THAT!

"But if we do, it will be the sign we are under Lockhart's trance or that he has brainwashed us." The Potter Heiress remarked in a mournful tone as they marched towards the Ravenclaw table. "In that case, you have my benediction to terminate me." Alexandra sighed as they sat at their usual place. "Or what will be left of me in my head, I suppose. So much pink..."

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was completely unrecognisable this morning. Instead of the classical colours one expected from a medieval fortress, the walls had taken a very pinkish tone, covered by pinkish flowers in indecent quantities. The candles which provided warmth and light when the sun did not shine enough had been replaced by thousands of hearts. There were pink hearts, silver and pink hearts, red and pink hearts and golden-pink hearts. The hearts came in all size and form, from the mini-ones the size of a nail to the huge balloons floating above their hearts. There were thousands of hearts confetti falling from the enchanted ceiling, the rare paintings present had had their cadres surrounded by hearts. Everywhere Alexandra's gaze turned, there was only hearts. Mini-angels in pink and gold song horrible love songs. The cups, plates and tables had been charmed to reveal pictures of medieval women fawning before gentlemen who may or may not have a strong likeness with Gilderoy Lockhart. It was horrid. It was an abomination. It was...the words failed Alexandra in front of so much pinkness.

And in the middle of this, was standing Gilderoy Lockhart defying the laws of human decency and intelligence with flashy and lurid pink robes, a smile so neat and shining it was almost frightening and a pink hat which shape in from of heart had a good chance to traumatise half of Hogwarts until their last breath.

Alexandra had to fight the urge vomit at the sight of this nauseating spectacle. Halloween was already bad, but at least this mockery of Samhain was done in good spirit. But this... with this debauchery, Hogwarts had really reached a new low in their defiance of the non-magical traditions. Only motive of satisfaction, at the Head Table all the Professors save Lockhart were stone-faced and made several tics at irregular intervals proving how close to their moral limits they were. The audience of students present for breakfast was divided between the disgust, the shock and the fan-girls. The latter were giggling, ignoring the hateful glares of the former two factions. The Slytherins as a whole showed faces of funeral. The majority of the Ravenclaws were muttering and whispering angrily how it was against tradition. The others Houses were trying their best to pretend it was a normal day, that nothing was out of the norm...and failing miserably.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted, a monumental flash of pink in front of the gobsmacked assembled students. "And may I thank the three hundred and forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the Entrance Hall marched...dwarves? But they were not the dwarves of the Lord of the Rings. They were not even cheap, smaller and uglier versions of the noble race imagined by Tolkien. They were all wearing wings and harps. They were positively and truly ridiculous. They were the alive, downgraded versions of the garden dwarves littering around Privet Drive and the neighbouring blocks, and one look was enough to see why the goblins were feared and this magical species was not. Oh, and they were all harbouring smiles as big as Lockhart.

"Not good..." Morag mumbled, putting her hands over her eyes.

"Why do I have a bad feeling?" Whispered Nigel. The three girls uncomfortably looked at each other, not wanting to reveal their feelings out loud. Such an affirmation was tempting Fate. And Fate hated to be tempted.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Beamed Lockhart, confirming the most nightmarish scenarios the stunned children had been able to imagine. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Alexandra had a feeling her Head of House had repressed a need to burst in tears. As for Professor Snape, well the Slytherin Potion Master was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. And it went without saying that the antidotes would not be distributed any time soon. Too bad Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't present today. Alexandra somehow wished the silver-haired old wizard would have been present to see his expression. The 'grandfather' persona against the infuriating Gilderoy Lockhart would have been an interesting match.

"Something has to be done..." Grumbled Alexandra. "Do you think that should I kill Lockhart here and now, the Professors would cover up the murder?"

Not one of her three friends looked to have heard her, fortunately or unfortunately.

Nigel in the mean time was pronouncing "unbelievable" wordlessly more than a dozen times, eyes staring to an invisible point in the Enchanted Ceiling. Morag was shaking her head absently. Hermione was reciting passages of _Hogwarts: A History_ by heart to give her serenity and calm.

"So that's what he intended when I heard him speak with Professor McGonagall last week." Intervened Hermione.

"He announced one week ago he was going to destroy Valentine's Day forever? I must have missed this conversation." Alexandra told, dazed from too much insults to rationality in such a short amount of time. "I would have killed him before he could put his plans to execution." She added in a low growl.

"No, he said the school needed a morale-booster now that the Heir has ceased his attacks in fear of him. To wash away the bad memories of last term, I think he said."

"I don't know what the worst in this conversation is." Murmured Alexandra, her voice only high enough to be heard by her three friends. "That the Heir could be afraid of Lockhart the Narcissist Fraud or that one single day in the year could make everyone forget an entire term of fear, angst and nasty pranks."

"What are we going to do?" Demanded the red-haired Ravenclaw. "We can't let Lockhart go away with such an insult to fashion sense. And don't say doing nothing, this time Alexandra." Morag said in a severe tone. "We have let the time for the curse to do the job, but if he doesn't want to teach or do something intelligent, then I think it's our duty to force him out of the castle."

"Fine. But you're buying the fireworks and the materials I want." Sighed Alexandra. To say the truth, the green-eyed Ravenclaw had a violent wish for pay-back too. There were limits which shouldn't be crossed, and Lockhart had joyously trampled them.

"Agreed."

"I will give you the list once the day over. Lockhart has really rumbled you, doesn't he?"

The MacDougal Heiress not replying was all the confirmation Alexandra needed.

"I propose we do not wait here for long. Eat fast." Advised Nigel.

"Why?" Asked the three girls in interrogating tones.

"Do you want to receive Valentine's poems in front of the whole school?" The auburn-haired boy asked rhetorically.

Alexandra could not help it. She laughed.

"Who in the name of the goblin armies could have the stupid idea to send me Valentines?" The Potter Heiress managed to articulate.

A gesture of the Gryffindor boy attracted Alexandra attention to the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley Twins and the New Marauders were busy making great signs to the dwarves with vindictive smiles. Alexandra immediately stopped grinning and blanched. Their group had totally avoided any retaliation from Longbottom, Black and Weasley for the Polyjuice incident, the Gryffindors involved having clearly taken the message Parvati Patil relayed very seriously. But here the second-year group had been given a golden opportunity for free vengeance. Something told Alexandra a Lion like Leo Black was not going to let it pass. Hearing the rhymes the Boy-Who-Lived and the rest of the prankster leadership of Hogwarts was not how she wanted to pass her Sunday.

"Never mind. I propose we retreat to our studying room." Luckily, it was a day where there were no classes and they had not to be in Lockhart's presence – it would have amplified the mental damage they had just received. "Before the dwarves or Lockhart horrible clothes choices catch up with us. Nigel and I have information we need to discuss."

"What kind of information?"

"The one other students really don't need to hear in public. It might cause riots. Or worse."

A new rain of pink hearts in confetti accelerated their escape out of the Hall.

 _We will really have to tidy up and clean our headquarters after this session_ , thought Alexandra. Multiples hours of search in the _Daily Prophet_ archives, obscure magical creature books and centuries-old lore had created a veritable mess in the room which was serving as their headquarters, place of refuge and studying centre. The table where the two Ravenclaws and the two Gryffindors were seated was crumbling under large piles of parchments.

The fire in the chimney had burnt far more piles of useless information even the prodigious memory of Hermione Granger could remember, but the knowledge they had written in their research for the Chamber of Secrets was two or three times greater than the regular assignments given by their Professors in first-year and second-year.

"Alright. After months of research, we have finally managed to find in the _Daily Prophet_ where the modern knowledge and the myth of the Chamber of Secrets originated."

Hermione and Morag smiled widely. In all honesty, they had excellent reasons to be happy. Most of the second- years students facing the challenge of finding a clue in old library texts would have abandoned long ago, but not them. Ultimately, their long and methodical quest had bore fruit. It was Nigel and she yesterday who had found the edition of the Prophet they were looking for.

"When?"

"1945. May 7 1945."

"1945? Professor Dumbledore wasn't Headmaster at that period, no?" Asked Hermione.

Alexandra made a sign of denegation. "No, he was the Senior Professor of Transfiguration and head of House Gryffindor. Professor Armando Dippet was the Headmaster when the attacks happened. In fact..." Alexandra grabbed the old edition of the Daily Prophet where she had found the information long-awaited, "if the newspaper can be believed, Dumbledore had left Hogwarts to go fighting on the continent. Two days before this date, he had vanquished the Dark Lord Grindelwald in a duel which had destroyed half of Berlin...but everyone knows that part of the story. Needless to say, the affair of the Chamber of Secrets happening at that exact moment was not that popular or noteworthy."

Needless to say, the coincidence of two momentous events happening at the same time...was it really a coincidence?

"And they caught the person responsible?"

"Yes. Gryffindor student Rubeus Hagrid was expulsed from Hogwarts and had his wand broken for his participation in six attacks and one murder." Revealed the Potter Heiress.

"Rubeus Hagrid was arrested for the murder of a fifth-year Muggle-born student. Are you sure you read correctly?" Hermione tone was full of scepticism. For good reasons, since the Keeper of the Keys wasn't exactly the picture of a bloodthirsty assassin.

"See for yourself." Alexandra affirmed, handing the incriminating pages. "That's what the _Daily Prophet_ , the _Dancing Farfadet_ and the _Loch Chronicles_ are saying." With the three main newspapers of Magical Britain all saying the same thing, it did not leave much place for other interpretations.

"I have difficulty believing this. He's a gentle man..."

"I have too," agreed Alexandra. "But not for the reasons you might expect. It is common knowledge Hagrid loves giant beasties and animals no one in his or her right mind would want as pets. Moreover, he's also reputed to be brash impulsive and wouldn't be able to lie to save his own life. A true Gryffindor if there ever was one."

"No trace of cunning or sneakiness." Approved Morag, who had taken the _Dancing Farfadet_ article once Hermione finished reading.

"Hagrid is perhaps the last person which would be acknowledged by Salazar Slytherin as his Heir or a possible claimant. With his gigantic stature, Hagrid is certainly not fully human, therefore making him a natural antagonist of the pure-blood ideology."

"You think he was framed." Said flatly Nigel, a statement rather than a question. Alexandra shrugged.

"Yes and no. If the paper can be trusted, he was caught with an Acromantula in his possession. These are XXXXX creatures, huge spiders with powerful venoms which are not above eating humans when they have captured them."

Alexandra shivered. The description of the Acromantulas she had read in the library was way too much approaching the description of the spiders haunting the tunnels of the Cirith Ungol's pass in the _Lord of the Rings_ for her mind not to imagine dreadful scenarios. The green-eyed girl had no fear of 'normal' spiders - although Petunia Dursley had a huge phobia of them - but meeting one bigger than you with taste of human flesh was...not good. And it was undoubtedly a generous understatement.

"Hagrid really deserved his expulsion. I don't think there's much doubt about that." If raising a man-eater spider in secret wasn't grounds for expulsion, then nothing would be. The Acromantula could have attacked young first-years unable to defend themselves and the venom these creatures could inject was extremely counter-indicated for your health. Hogwarts standards may have slipped during the last decades under Dumbledore's rule, however it appeared that with Headmaster Dippet they were limits one did not cross. "But I don't think he was the Heir of Slytherin. Not unless he did what Quirell did during years if not decades."

"Well the attacks ceased, no?" Morag had decided to play the role of the devil's advocate. "I mean, if Hagrid had been expulsed and the attacks continued, that would have proved his innocence."

"Think about it, Morag." Hermione had a face a bit...frustrated anyone could consider the gentle Keeper of Keys the culprit behind the recent climate of fear in the Scottish school. "Slytherin House is supposed to be the embodiment of cunning and ambition. What better way to triumph than for the culprit to blame someone else?"

"You're right." Answered the red-haired Ravenclaw in a not fully convinced expression. "You're right. But you realise it leaves us not better advanced, yes? If Hagrid was not the culprit fifty years ago, then he is not going to be responsible for the attacks now. And we can't exactly interrogate the former students who studied there that year to prove or disprove our theories."

"Yep. I bet most of them won't remember what we're speaking about." Joked Alexandra.

"We have longer memories and lives than Muggles." Sniffed Morag, which Alexandra reacting only by raising an eyebrow.

"Okay. Neither the _Prophet_ nor the _Farfadet_ are giving us significant details. No names, nothing save Hagrid. Are there any other articles?"

"There are not a lot more articles for Hogwarts in summer 1945 and they're all about OWL, Newt and different inter-school competitions. We will search more, but don't keep your hopes up. They didn't announce the attacks when they happened, just at the death of the student and when Hagrid's was arrested."

"On page 5, half a page or article and no follow-up the next day or the rest of the week?" Morag frowned. "Looks like a cover-up. Everything which happens at Hogwarts like the Quidditch plays or the NEWTS results are highly publicised," the red-haired girl explained to her less political astute friends. "A murder in the castle should have made the front page and the headlines, war or no war against Grindelwald."

"But it didn't." Nigel said unnecessarily.

"Yes, it definitely smells like a cover-up or should I say another cover-up. But in this case, if Dumbledore wasn't responsible why should he continue the secrecy policy?"

"Oath?" The reply of Hermione was very tentative and not very convincing.

"He was a teacher so it's a possibility. But once he was Headmaster of Hogwarts and Dippet died, he should have been released from it. The Headmaster position is rumoured to have leeway with binding oaths sworn inside these walls, in order to protect the interests of Hogwarts."

"Convenient." Was Alexandra laconic remark, thinking about plenty of situations where the Chief Warlock had benefitted from this loophole.

"It is a good advantage in the Wizengamot and international politics." Agreed the Irish witch.

"Let's examine all the facts we know, shall we?" Alexandra frowned and tightened her fists. "We have the man who was accused close to forty years ago on Hogwarts grounds as the moment we speak. A man certainly innocent and framed for the crime in spite of the minor fact no spider of any kind has the power to petrify. That I know of."

"We have a Headmaster and a number of unknown Professors willing to maintain the secret of the previous events at any cost." Added Hermione.

"We have this fraud of Lockhart, who is the new Quirell or the worst imbecile the earth has seen walked."

"Don't forget his fan-girl named Professor Reed." Piped Nigel.

"Oh, yes the fan-girls. Let's talk...no let's not talk about them. Our minds are not sure to survive from this discussion. Really."

A mutual groan of assent followed to confirm the wisdom of this decision.

"We have Longbottom who is a Parselmouth and is always found near the crime scenes. Then there was their little attempt to use Polyjuice and pass for me." Hermione's voice was silent condemnation, and her eyes blazed of cold fury. Alexandra winced. Convincing her bushy-haired friend not to murder Patil in the days which had followed the discovery of this rule-breaking had necessitated the combined efforts of Morag, Nigel and herself. It had met success, but the black-haired witch was far from convinced Hermione would ever forgive Parvati. The two girls had already not been close or shared any passions at Hogwarts. The Indian-born girl loved gossiping, the cosmetics and everything linked one way or another with beauty, reputation and appearance. Hermione was studious, loved books, desired to be at the top academically, and couldn't care less about looks. Now any friendship between them was well and truly ruined. Strangely, it had made Parvati and Lavender go further in the Boy-Who-Lived inner circle. Go figure.

"And the Slytherins and the Gryffindors attack each other every time the Heir attacks or something goes wrong. Like Quidditch."

Sign of how things had changed since they all met and were Sorted on September 1 1991, it was Nigel who interrupted this depressing series of fact.

"I think that's enough. We won't solve the situation like this. What about speaking about a more joyous subject? The Electives?"

"Yes!" The support had come from Hermione, no surprise as an academic point had appeared from nowhere.

"We are not supposed to inform our Head of House before Easter..." Sighed Alexandra while stacking piles of spare parchments. Inwardly she knew pertinently the cause was lost from the beginning, if Hermione's expression was any indication. "Oh, very well...five possible electives in second year from what I read. Correct, Morag?"

"Essentially, yes. The Five Electives are Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. It is mandatory to take two out of five, and advised to brilliant students to take three. At least that is the theory."

"This is not true?" Hermione seemed really indignant the Professors had yet again 'forgot' to inform them of several key points in their school choices.

"It's not completely false." Amended the Ravenclaw pure-blood. "Due to the high rate of wealthy and influential families attending Hogwarts, many of the students have already a job in politics or the family businesses to manage. Sometimes both. And there are other electives available in fourth year. Not free and available to everyone, but they exist."

"You are in the first category." Pointed Hermione Granger.

"Yes." Agreed the blue-eyed witch. "Instead of taking a third elective, my parents are going to hire a tutor for me in classes of business management and Wizengamot politics every Saturday of our third year."

"Why not Alex too?"

The Potter Heiress laughed in a tone which was sincerely amused.

"Hermione, who am I?"

"You're Alexandra Potter, Heiress of the Most Ancient House of Potter, daughter of...oh..."

"Yes, 'oh'. The odds of a tutor accepting me as a student are so low the odds of Sauron appearing in the middle of the Great Hall at next lunch are significantly higher I'm sure."

"When will you stop the _Lords of the Rings_ references?"

"Never." Alexandra retorted, knowing Hogwarts was rife with comparisons with Middle Earth and reality was rarely proven as simple and fair.

"And the classes you will take?"

"Hmmm...Arithmancy is a must-be, I think."

"It's the most difficult elective of third-year." Nigel's voice had a hint of hesitancy, largely understandable given that despite his constant climbing in the ranks of the second-years, the auburn-haired Gryffindor was still far from the top ten of the 1991 arrivals. And Professor Vector, the Arithmancy expert residing at Hogwarts, had acquired a reputation of failing half her class of third-years before Christmas. In all, less than five students managed each year to achieve an OWL in this class. Achieving a NEWT in Arithmancy was big news, according the rumours it gave access to extremely well-paid jobs and national recognition was not far behind. Of course you had to survive five years with Professor Vector first.

"Sure. But it will be a challenge. And Arithmancy is the basis of Spell-Creation."

"It's more than that." Said quietly Hermione. "In the books of the library, it's explained Arithmancy combined with Runes is at the foundation of the ward schemes defending each major wizarding home and stores, each school and place of importance in Wizarding Britain."

"True. And a lot of other possibilities have been listed in the brochures. So. Who will go in Arithmancy with me?"

Hermione of course raised her hand faster than her shadow. Nigel nodded negatively, rapidly followed by the MacDougal Heiress.

"No offence, Alexandra, but I want a class which will not be a monumental chore and that I can pass with an 'O' without studying every hour and minute of my free time. Nigel and I will leave Hermione and you the honour of ruling Arithmancy."

"Coward." Muttered the Potter Heiress vaguely amused. "What will you take then? Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Yes."

"No."

Alexandra and Hermione both blinked. Morag not taking Care of Magical Creatures did not leave her that many other possibilities. And Nigel taking it...Alexandra was sincerely worried for him. Professor Kettleburn had a frightening tendency of inviting 'funny' creatures to supplement his teachings. The man and Hagrid were friends, if their discussions in the Great Hall were any indication.

"Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies?"

"Yes." Confirmed the second Ravenclaw member of the Exiled. "Runes are quite an interesting subject, and Muggle Studies is an easy OWL."

"I will take Care with Divination." Announced Nigel.

"Divination is a joke." Told Morag before softening a bit her words. "It's true it's the easiest OWL of the lot since you can invent everything and not be caught out by the examiners, but the Professor is a drunk and it really doesn't teach you anything worthwhile."

"How to lie convincingly?" Proposed Alexandra. "I have heard it's a good quality for a politician...oh, well. I will take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. I have seen too many dangerous creatures already in the last two years and I don't want Trelawney predicting my death twice per day."

"That only leaves you, Hermione." The MacDougal Heiress ignoring the last critic of her fellow Ravenclaw.

"I will take the five electives." The brown-haired Gryffindor girl said proudly and with a hint of superiority.

"Do you intend to break all the records of Hogwarts?" Asked politely Alexandra, before puffing at Hermione's reddening visage. "Never mind. But won't have any free time with that kind of schedule."

"To my knowledge, no one has tried to follow twelve classes at the same time." Thoughtfully announced Morag. "The boys and girls who achieve twelve OWLS do it in self-study. And they are not a lot of them. Arithmancy is a hard class to follow, and I suppose Ancient Runes can be on par with Transfiguration.

In fact, I think the last person to achieve twelve OWLS at the exams was William's Weasley, the eldest son of the Weasley family, who graduated three or four years ago."

"Did Dumbledore get twelve OWLS when he studied at Hogwarts?" Demanded Nigel.

"No." Answered Alexandra. "He achieved 'only' eleven. He didn't study Divination."

"Someone has been searching in the school archives..."

"It's not against the school rules last time I've checked." Affirmed the black-haired girl. The archives were always open to the students but the number of non-Ravenclaws demanding the permission to search them was ridiculously low. "But in this case, it was not necessary. Searching the archives of the _Daily Prophet_ was largely enough to see Dumbledore's academic record printed black on white four or five times a month. Illuminating the masses with the brilliance of our Chief Warlock, I think."

"What did he take?" Hermione despite all accusations and conspiracies they had levelled against the Headmaster was still considering him an academic model to beat.

"Eleven OWLS, all with an 'O' and perfect or near-perfect marks. Transfiguration, Charms, History, Potions, Astronomy, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology for the core classes. His electives were Alchemy, Ancient Runes and Enchanting."

Alchemy was still in theory offered as a sixth-year class elective. In theory being the key word. Only six times in three decades had someone managed a NEWT on the subject and not a single one had been taught by the Supreme Mugwump.

"Enchanting?"

"It was one of the most esoteric and prestigious elective classes a student could take at Hogwarts." Explained Morag. "Open only to the most brilliant students of fourth year, the class offered ward creation, the ability to enchant your own objects and different subjects at the edge of magical abilities."

"It was closed in 1964 by the Headmaster, no?"

"Yes, it caused quite a scandal at that time. The Headmaster made the point the class requirements were too high and there weren't enough witches or wizards to teach to justify keeping a full-time teacher."

Alexandra touched her lips in perplexity. It didn't make sense. Her mother had passed the OWL and the NEWT in Enchanting, in spite of being no teachers? How the hell had Lily Potter achieved that feat?

"I think Dumbledore enjoy being scandalous. Just look at his clothes, they're so out of fashion..." Alexandra sighed. "Chances to reopen the class in time for third year?"

"Non-existent. But it is still taught at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons and several other European schools."

"And it's supposed to cheer me up? Assuming I was willing to transfer to a school where I have no friends and I won't be able to speak the language, Beauxbatons is hellishly expensive. Durmstrang will never accept us as their students due to their stupid blood-purity laws."

"Err...it's less blood-purity and more of a means to limit themselves the number of candidates to the upper classes of our society." Corrected Nigel. "That's my father told me anyway."

"Fantastic. Oh, well, nothing we can do about it. Now we have to organise how we plan to train in offensive and defensive spells. Something tells me we aren't going to get good marks in the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs otherwise..."

* * *

 **19 February 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

It was nearly an hour after curfew and Hogwarts was calm. The corridors were cold, deprived of any human life save one or two Prefects and Professors starting their rounds. The torches provided light as their enchantments commanded, but in pure loss as there was no student to lighten the walk.

The Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws had long gone back to the warmth and safety of their Common Rooms in the towers. The Hufflepuffs had done the same on the first floor. And the Slytherins were now sleeping or studying in their own bedrooms in the dungeons.

The gates of the school were closed. Slowly but surely, the teaching staff and the Prefects retired to their private quarters, no threat evidently having manifested on this evening and the first hours of night. A human being, no matter if he or she was a Muggle or a magical, needed a few hours of sleep, leaving only one or two regular patrols for the entire school.

Appearances, alas, could be incredibly deceiving.

In the dungeons, a long forgotten and dusty room having two decades ago served as a Potions laboratory had now found a far more sinister purpose. One the Professors and Headmaster in all certainty wouldn't have approved of if they had been aware of it.

In it, tens students of various ages had gathered. The reason of their presence was a eleventh individual, who was currently delivering a vibrant speech on the stage, not hampered by his or her personal traits being dissimulated under the hood of the Hogwarts winter robes.

"It is time," finished the figure leading the small assembly in front of the ruined blackboard, "that the blood-traitors and the Mudbloods understand their place in our society!"

"Yes!"

"You're right!"

The exclamations had come from Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague, two Slytherin fourth-years well known for their absolute belief in blood-purity. The rest of the Slytherins present were less vocal, but the viciousness and the fanaticism in their eyes gave a clue the affirmations had struck true.

"How many laws have been passed in the last decades destroying our culture? Our traditions? Our right to practise the Old and Sacred Magic?"

"Too many. Bloody too many." Grumbled one of the participants in the audience. Jared Miller, Heir of the Ancient House of Miller had reasons to be as disgruntled as he was. His House since 1945 has lost the 'Most Noble' part of the title thanks to several of their most powerful rituals becoming forbidden, slaying in a single strike their influence and their reputation. Several attempts to redress this fact by amoral means had then sealed their downfall. The wealth he and his relatives owned was a paltry thing compared to what House Miller had owned in the past.

"Too many." Approved the orator in a calmer tone. "Too many and it's time it stops! The Light Houses are growing more and more arrogant with each success and when they will have the opportunity they will push to remove the Dark from the Wizengamot. Every day house search warrants are written under the most ridiculous accusations!"

A very slim teenager with brown hair and dark blue eyes vigorously nodded among the group. Dermot Ardoch, Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Ardoch, had reasons to be furious. A party of sixteen from the Ministry had raided his house two weeks ago, doing significant damage and leaving without an excuse after they didn't find what they had been looking for. Given that Ardoch's uncle had been an enforcer of Lord Voldemort's will in the last war, these raids launched on the tiniest rumour had become a common occurrence at Ardoch Manor. The last episode had left his grandmother bleeding on the ancestral parquet and only the devotion of a House Elf had transported the matriarch of House Ardoch to the hospital of Saint Mungo's in time.

"What is your plan?" Asked Thomson Carrow, Heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Carrow. The sixth-year had become rather infamous in the Snake's Den for his bland participations in 'pranks' against the Muggle-borns, deeds which would have awarded him several weeks of suspension if he had been caught in the act. Thomson was known as cruel and partially insane, a trait which had already been noticed during the last war. The Carrow line had become somewhat infamous for siring the Death Eaters Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Thomson was following in their steps.

"My plan is to force the Board of Governors to dismiss this old fool of Dumbledore with a series of impressive and devastating attacks. Once it's done, we will be able to push for Hogwarts to establish anew a true and proper magical education. The majority will be too fearful of us to make any move against the Dark."

"It could work..." The smile of Lewis Wilkes, last living member of House Wilkes would have made crawl of any sane wizard and witch. "Time to explain these abominations we do not longer tolerate their existence!"

More than one of the persons narrowed or frowned at this intervention. Douglas Wilkes, Lewis's father, had been a Death Eater of the inner circle, and had been rather enthusiastic in screaming expressions like this before he manipulated wards and lethal traps to fight against the Order of the Phoenix and forces of the Ministry of Magic. That Douglas Wilkes overwhelming majority of murders and destruction had been directed against Purebloods or Half-Bloods was a stark reminder events had not gone exactly according to the official policies of the Dark.

"That's all well and good." Intervened Annabeth Blackford, Heiress of the Ancient House of Blackford, a family which had practically lost everything in its fervent support of the last Dark Lord. "You speak of things we want to hear. Acts our House politics and financial status desperately want to adhere. But who are you? How do we know if we can trust you?"

The person hidden behind the robes emitted a dark smirk, before pushing back her hood and revealing her changing visage to the entire audience.

Blonde-reddish hairs and brown-purple eyes greeted the astounded Slytherins.

"I am Scylla Persephone Yaxley." Said the young girl.

"I am the Herald of the Heir." Powerful dark green tendrils of energy emerged in a snake-like manner from the sleeves of her robes before striking instantly the arms of each student, effectively binding them to the equivalent of a powerful Oath of Silence.

"And if you betray me, I promise my Master will take a long time to make you suffer."


	37. No one is safe

**Chapter 37**

 **No one is safe**

 **7 March 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"Fulgur Magna! Fulgur Magna! Fulgur Magna!"

The repetition of incantation of the Lightning-based spell should have at least produced a few sparks but no magic graced its presence after the end of this loud repetition.

"I am doing something wrong, no?" Asked Nigel unnecessarily, frowning heavily and passing a head in his auburn hairs. The Gryffindor second-year had a clearly discouraged expression on his face.

"I don't know..." Replied Alexandra. "Fulgur Magna!"

A small blue lightning bolt emerged from her wand after one very long twirl and went to strike the target, a huge mannequin the group had found in an abandoned classroom.

"Hermione?"

"You and Nigel did the exact same wand moves prescribed in the book." Commented the Gryffindor bushy-haired witch, a book open on her knees. "No reason why it shouldn't have worked."

"Weird. This is the, what? Twentieth time it has happened since we began?"

This was a rough guess but Hermione was infallible as long as information collect was at stake.

"Twenty-fifth for Nigel. Thirteen times for Morag. Five for me. None for you."

"Like I said, weird." Of course magic was by its very nature strange...but even by these standards this period of training was providing more questions than answers.

"It's the spells which are weird." Affirmed vehemently Nigel. "Who found this book on Lightning-based spells anyway?"

"Me." Grimaced the MacDougal Heiress. "I asked my parents for ideas about non-conventional spells, and they told me this book was worth it."

"Are there any potential reasons listed for these spells to be...off?"

"Well, I suppose the wards of Hogwarts could counteract whatever effect these incantations have..."

Alexandra was not satisfied, though. The wards of this mysterious castle were not to be blamed at the fist occasion.

"No. If these spells were worthy of alerting the wards, we would busy explaining our sessions to the Professors because of the number of alerts. No, it's something else."

"Could it be in the intricacy and the magical characterisation of the incantation? I have heard something about the Arithmantic factor of exponential Merlinic degradation somewhere..."

Two pair of Ravenclaw eyes and one pair of Gryffindor interrupted momentarily their reflexions to fix Hermione Granger.

"What?"

"The combination and general application of Arithmancy to general hexes and jinxes is to the program of fifth-year, Hermione. Where by Merlin pants have you read that sort of thing?"

Hermione instantly harboured the guilty expression of someone having been caught in the process of committing a felony.

"Oh, never mind." Sighed Morag. "But please warn our Head of House when you will have finished reading the entire library..."

Nigel was doing his best not to laugh at Hermione's not-so-virtuous face.

"But back to the subject. It could be simpler. There are elemental affinities, these spells could resonate with them."

"Elemental affinities?" Nigel frowned in confusion. "I thought having an Elemental talent was extremely rare?"

"Oh, it is." Confirmed the red-haired Ravenclaw. "One chance in a hundred thousand approximately that a witch or wizard is an Elemental. Maybe less. Unless I misremembered something, there were no Elementals in the British Isles since the last century. There are two or three worldwide."

"I'm sorry but what is exactly an Elemental?" Asked testily the Gryffindor girl of their group, closing forcefully her book.

"A witch or a wizard able to manipulate, create, master and control one of the five elements wandlessly." Alexandra slowly explained. "Fire, wind, water, earth and lightning are the possible elements. Due to the large danger the Elementals represent for themselves, those nearby and in general for the Statute of Secrecy, their potential appearance is extremely scrutinised by all the existing Ministries of Magic."

"That's precise." Noted Nigel.

"From my researches on my family, one of my ancestors was an Elemental." Said in a light tone the green-eyed Ravenclaw.

"Never heard of him." Frowned Morag.

"I agree. Professor Binns never talked about this."

"Professor Binns is a horrifyingly boring old ghost who only cares about Goblin Rebellions." Alexandra laughed before letting her smile disappear. "But in this case, it's perfectly justified. From what I read, Elemental lives never seem to be happy ones. Lawrence Potter lost control of his fire powers in the middle of a village in the 1600s. There were close to one hundred deaths in this incident."

"Ouch. That's...not good. What happened to him after?"

"What do you think?" Alexandra told in a fatalist tone. "Executed by the Wizengamot. Too dangerous to be authorised to live."

She didn't add that according to the outdated work it had been Lawrence Potter's own family who had betrayed him. It may have been four hundred years ago, but House Potter had clearly accumulated a few skeletons in their closets in their supposed pristine history.

"This is why we're speaking about affinities." Intervened Morag, evidently wishing to come back to a less damaging topic. "Contrary to elemental powers, every wizard or witch has one. It has been proven."

Alexandra chose to not to disagree with this affirmation...the proof Magical Britain sometimes accepted for their theories had not many scientific or really sound foundations.

"If we go this reasoning, I have a Lightning affinity...and the rest of you haven't."

"Yeah."

"Is there a means to validate this assumption?"

"There are instruments, yes. But a lot of them are Ministry-owned. House MacDougal hasn't one."

"Too bad." Alexandra rolled her shoulders. Then she looked at her wand. "Unless...Morag, can magical creatures have an elemental affinity?"

"Sure." Her fellow Ravenclaw answered. "Unlike humans, every member of the same species has the same affinity..." Blue piercing eyes met flashing green ones. "Why?"

"Do you know what the core of my wand is?" The red-haired witch made a negative sign. "It's hydra heartstring."

"Wow." Nigel exhaled.

"Seriously?"

Alexandra nodded.

"That would explain a few things."

"How so?"

"Hydras are one of the rarest magical beasts and they are classed as XXXXXX-class creatures. They are virtually immortal, impossible to kill and all of that. The hydras are renowned to breathe flames or blasts of lightning, their fangs are covered in a multitude of poisons that have few antidotes, and they re-grow twice the heads that have been destroyed."

The long explanation from Morag made both Nigel and Hermione shiver considerably. Rapidly they found other objects of interests to fix their attention upon.

"Charming."

"They're the apex predators in Greece." Shrugged the Heiress of House MacDougal. "And for a good reason."

Silence fell in the improvised training room. Finally it was Nigel who rattled his throat and started anew the conversation.

"Hydra or no Hydra, this room is not exactly the best to train powerful spells. Are you sure there aren't better options?"

"The Duelling Room is closed until the end of times." Reminded Alexandra, classing the list of parchments and books just searched with a quick spell. "By the order of the highest authority, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself."

"Bugger." Grumbled Nigel.

"Language!""

"I don't want to admit it, but it's probably a wise decision in this case."

Flitwick had been very tight-lipped about the incident which had led to the end of the Duelling club but there were always rumours in the Common Rooms. Names like Bellatrix Lestrange, the Marauders and many wizards and witches who had died in the previous war.

"Yeah, it would be too bad for the Slytherins and the Gryffindors to leave torrents of blood in a single room."

Surely if the two feuding Houses realised the true cost of a war, they would be a bit less eager to participate in one, no?

"Have we the time to try a few other offensive spells, Nigel?" Demanded Morag.

"No. The match is going to begin in fifteen minutes." Answered the auburn-haired Gryffindor.

"Alexandra? Don't use the most powerful of these spells like the _Fulmen Imperator_ unless it's a life-or-death choice. These Lightning attacks can kill someone if you're not careful."

Alexandra pouted at Morag's warning, murmured a very audible "no fun", and stood from the chair where she had momentarily taken a break. "In that case we should better go, shouldn't we?"

Marching to the door and opening it in one move, Alexandra turned to see only Nigel had followed her. Hermione and Morag were discussing something over a few parchments, in a low voice which screamed 'conspiracy' more than everything.

"You're not coming to see the match?"

The red-haired Ravenclaw and brown-haired Gryffindor raised their head at the same time with what looked like 'caught in the act' faces.

"Uh, oh no, we have something to..."

"We need to look at something in the library." Morag interrupted the beginning of the sentence. "Don't worry, Alex, we will go to the pitch as soon as we have finished."

Alexandra narrowed her eyes. Something here was sounding 'trouble' in capital letters. That Hermione Granger, first and single official founder of the 'I hate Quidditch committee' refused to go see her House playing, fine. Stranger things had happened. But Morag MacDougal, a Ravenclaw having parents involved in Quidditch business and having participated in the trials, wanted to deliberately miss a Quidditch match? Something was definitely wrong.

Alexandra opened her mouth to ask her friends what they were playing at, before ultimately renouncing. The two girls had a right to keep some secrets, and pestering them until they ceded could wait until later after lunch. Or dinner, if the match lasted longer.

Making a mock gesture with her mouth, the green-eyed Ravenclaw left the room with Nigel on her heels, joining the crowd of students descending the stairs.

"Do you know what they were talking about?" Demanded Nigel, avoiding by pure luck being trampled by three massive sixth-year Gryffindors who didn't care about who they entered in collision with.

"Girl stuff probably." Alexandra wasn't sure either what the two members of their little group wanted. "Or maybe Morag wanted to convince Hermione to change her mind when it came to the new classes of third-year, you know..."

Nigel look could only be described as doubtful, before he tripped on a sort of purple gum which had not been there when the Potter Heiress had turned her head the last time.

"I GOT YOU WOLPY!" Screamed Peeves, poltergeist dedicated to chaos and panic. "FLEE! FLEE BEFORE PEEVES!" And the trickster spirit proceeded to water a large band of Hufflepuff downstairs with what looked like a pair of enchanted Muggle water pistols.

"A normal day at Hogwarts." Remarked sarcastically Alexandra as the Badgers dispersed in a total panic. "Nothing new under the sun."

"Err, Alex..."

The twelve-year old witch looked upwards, assisting in slow motion at the efforts of Peeves to make a powerful water bomb with a balloon.

"Glacius."

The ray of ice thrown by Alexandra's wand turned the water and the balloon to ice.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The ice structure was projected against the ceiling, breaking in a little rain of ice, far away from any students.

"Not funny, Potty!" Whined Peeves. But seeing the raven-haired Ravenclaw pointing her wand directly at him and making small sparks, the poltergeist decided discretion was the better part of valour...and raced into the opposite direction, his metaphorical tail between his legs.

"Good job, Alex."

"We can't let this poltergeist continue this reign of terror, no? After all if this continues, the Lions and the Badgers will be more afraid of Peeves, than me, their Dark Lady."

"Merlin forbids this abominable possibility!"

"Exactly."

Although the non-magical-raised Ravenclaw wasn't sure why the wizards swore so much by Merlin and Morgana. The few tales and writings about these legendary wizards were as legendary and mythical in the Wizarding World as they were in the non-magical one. Gandalf and Sauron had a far more reliable story to believe in.

"The nargles approve of this, you know."

Alexandra turned her head to see the students who had intervened in her private conversation with Nigel. To her surprise, it was a first-year girl with pale, dirty blonde hair, grey-silver eyes, faint eyebrows and a set of clothes which could be described as ...weird, even by the standards of the Wizarding World. The Ravenclaw green-eyed witch tried to remind the name of the girl. By the set of arms on her robe, this one was one of her fellow Ravenclaw...the name clicked in her head.

"You're Luna Lovegood." The blonde witch gave her a dreamy smile of agreement, the kind you give someone when you have consumed too much alcohol or drugs. But even Vernon or Marge had never displayed this kind of dreamy faces after emptying a bottle of wine by themselves.

"Excuse me but what is a nargle?" Nigel voice was curious, and Alexandra had to admit she was interested too.

"Your head is full of wrackspurts, Alexandra Potter. Beware, Sword of Emerald. There is a storm of Heliopaths coming."

"Err...sure. You're coming with us seeing Quidditch Luna?"

After all when the situation is not making any sense...

"No, I don't think so. Catching moon frogs is more interesting." And on this, the Lovegood girl marched away and disappeared in the distance.

"That was a weird conversation." And that was really saying something, when your Potions Senior Professor was imitating the frightening appearance of fictional vampires, your Transfiguration Professor transformed into a cat and your Headmaster was either a genius or completely insane. Or both.

"Yeah." There had been several strange things happening at Hogwarts since their Sorting in first-year and Headmaster Dumbledore often said speeches no one could make head or tails, but the conversation which had just last seconds largely beat them without trying. Had this speech come from the Weasley Twins or any group of pranksters, Alexandra would have treated it like a joke. But Luna Lovegood had not behaved like someone who wanted to have a good laugh. Weird. What were a heliopath, nargles and moon frogs by the way?

"I find myself every day questioning the sanity of my fellow Ravenclaws." The Potter Heiress sent a last glance towards where Luna had left, before marching in the direction of the entrance. "You have an explanation for this behaviour, Nigel?"

"The Lovegood family has always a reputation of...eccentricity, shall we say?" Said the Gryffindor with a grimace.

"You know them?" Asked the twelve-year old witch as they arrived in the great marble stairs and were about to pass near the Great Hall.

"Not really, no." Admitted Nigel. "But the Lovegood family own a newspaper, the _Quibbler_ , and I searched for journalist opportunities..."

"Ah. What did you learn?"

"The Lovegoods are a very ancient, but also very poor pure-blood family. They were in the Wizengamot in the 1800s, but lost their seat after their Heir tried to demonstrate his ability to tame a dragon in the middle of Hogsmeade."

Alexandra could not help but pale at this information.

"A fully-grown dragon?"

"Yes, an Hebridean Black. It went awry. A major disaster."

"No kidding." Alexandra had met a baby dragon last year and the little beast had been tough to beat for its size. A fully-grown one...there were less painful ways to die. Classed as XXXXX creatures, known wizard-killers, dragons were less dangerous than Summons, but that was like saying cholera was better than plague, a very meagre consolation. Marching in the grass, the Ravenclaw witch really hoped all a sudden that Luna Lovegood did not intend to walk in her ancestor's steps. Hogwarts was already too much 'interesting' on an average day.

"They have a modest house at Saint Ottery Catchpole if I remember correctly; it's a fairly nice village with several other wizarding families."

"It's the home town of the Weasleys, no? I remember the third member of our inestimable Golden Trio saying he lived there in a Defence class."

The noise and the chaos generated by the different crowd of supporters rushing to the stadium after that put a temporarily end to the conversation. A massive column of red, with an opposite yellow, was in formation. Logical, when you knew the name of the confrontation.

Today was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, third Quidditch match of the season.

After their unexpected victory against the Nimbus 2001's boosted Slytherin players, every bookmaker's apprentice at Hogwarts, led of course by the infamous Twin Terrors - also known as the Weasley Twins - was now guaranteeing a Gryffindor victory in the Cup. And it went without saying a particularly humiliating defeat to Hufflepuff for the week-end.

The Slytherin Chasers having been unable to pulverise the team spirit of the Lions Chasers, so no one really believed in the chances of Helga's House. As unfair as it was, it was the painful truth. Hufflepuff had only one good player in its roster: Cedric Diggory, the Seeker. Unfortunately, the rather good-looking boy had a challenging counterpart with Neville Longbottom...and his Comet 260 was utterly outclassed in a straight-up race against the Nimbus 2000 of the Boy-Who-Lived. In difficult weather conditions, maybe Diggory would be able to offset these drawbacks. But today there was a beautiful sun, a clear sky and the wind was low. Every factor favoured the Gryffindor Seeker.

The others six yellow-robed players in the current roster were described as...very average. The Hufflepuff team had not a high level of coordination or skill. The match against Ravenclaw had seen a high proportion of missed passes and Bludgers sent everywhere but the opponent. Everyone in the school agreed Hufflepuff had probably the best team spirit of the four Houses, and the students from first-year to seventh were two hundred percent behind them. Too bad it was all they had. Well, the sympathy of most of the public too. Ravenclaw House saw nothing wrong cheering their friendly rivals, and for the Snakes, everyone was better than Gryffindor.

Otherwise, the atmosphere was rather festive. There had been no petrifaction attacks of any sort in the last month, and while messages in bright or livid green colours continued to be painted in abandoned corridors glorifying the Heir of Slytherin, the tensions between the Houses were at a normal level – the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin continued but they left the two other Houses out of it.

Large banners of Lions and Badgers floated largely in the stands under the light wind. The Gryffindors stands were a sea of gold and red; the Hufflepuff crowd was a bright yellow. A murmur of excitation permeated the stands, devolving in a burst of applauds when fourteen students in Quidditch gear left the lockers to set foot on the well-maintained grass.

"Here comes the team of Gryffindor!" Exclaimed the habitual commentator Lee Jordan, the black-skinned Gryffindor still in charge of the score and the animation despite oratory performances which could not be described as anything but biased.

"Captain Wood, Johnson, Bell, Spinnet, Weasley and Weasley and...Longbottom!"

The last name was pronounced with the dramatic effect it deserved, and the Lions screamed their joy to the heavens. A thunder of applauds sounded, small red fireworks were fired up, lions mascots made their appearance...the hooligans of many football teams would have recognised the Gryffindor as worthy of their friendship, had they been aware of their existence.

"And of course their opponents, Hufflepuff! Captain Diggory, Preece, Macavoy and Herbert as Chasers, McManus and Rickett as Beaters, with Fleet guarding the goals."

"Hufflepuff, do your stuff!" Chanted the crowd in yellow, raising a huge banner where several badgers were represented slaying lions and diverse felines.

Acclamations came from everywhere on the pitch, save a majority of Slytherin, that obviously weren't going to cheer for anything as vulgar and common as Quidditch when none of the two teams playing belonged to the Snake's Den.

All the boys and girl on the pitch rapidly formed two neat lines under the watchful eye of the referee Professor Hooch. A thrill of Professor Hooch and fifteen brooms soared in the air, with the Quaffle, the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch being released under a golden sun and a blue sky.

"And the third match of the season has begun! Hufflepuff has grabbed the Quaffle with Preece, but it doesn't last, interception by the lovely Chaser Angelina Johnson! Why this girl doesn't want to date me, I will never understand..."

"JORDAN!"

"Perhaps, Lee shouldn't try to propose Angelina every time there is a Quidditch match." Advised Nigel, on Alexandra's left.

"Perhaps." Acknowledged the Ravenclaw witch. She had no experience in that sort of things, but screaming you wanted to date a girl with the next best thing to a magical megaphone in front of all the teachers and the students...they were not a lot of methods more likely to fail. It was also not very flattering, a lot of Ravenclaw girls - and Alexandra included herself in this number - found that Lee was talking about dates and invitations for Hogsmeade with girls like one bargain for a piece of meat at the butcher.

"But I think Angelina has her eye on one of the Weasley Twins. That's the rumour anyway."

"GOAL! GOAL of Katie Bell for Gryffindor! Gryffindor leads by 10-0!"

The two friends redirected their attention to the match. The youngest chaser of the Lions had indeed opened the score, evading the vigilance of Keeper Fleet. It was not an extraordinary shoot, but the Hufflepuff had been unable to see through the series of feints, no matter how evident they were.

This augured badly for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. What followed didn't reassure their supporters. With a supernatural rapidity betraying a long practise and long hours spent flying in all weather conditions, the Gryffindor Quidditch team regrouped and on the signal of its captain, the fanatic known by most of the school as Oliver Wood, the Lions formed a new attack pattern before rushing to the offensive again.

The passes were realised with fluidity and precision. The Bludgers were hurled by the Weasley Twins with improbable angles, disrupting entirely the strategy of the yellow players. It showed on the score. Contrary to Slytherin, the Badgers did little to no fault and the game was continuous without any opportunities to catch up or retake breath.

Katie Bell marked another goal. Then Angelina Johnson. One minute later, Alicia Spinnet opened her personal goal count.

40-0 for Gryffindor. And the match had not reached the ten minutes mark.

"This is not a match. It's a beating." Remarked sadly Alexandra. Despite the annoying pack-mentality of the Hufflepuff, the twelve-year old witch had found the qualities valued by Helga's House were worthy of recognition. She did not want to see a humiliation against the Boy-Who-Lived and his team.

"How? How can there be such a difference between them and the Lions?" Demanded Nigel, not breaking eye contact as one Hufflepuff Beater missed throwing off his broom one of his own team's Chaser.

"Better tactics, more training, I guess. More talent too." The green-eyed witch winced as one of the Weasley Twins expedited a Bludger right in the leg of the Chaser named Herbert.

"But they have not better brooms." The protestation of her Gryffindor friend lacked a bit of conviction.

"You forget that Slytherin only had a chance because of these rogue Bludgers, and they had Nimbus 2001s." The Potter Heiress commented as Katie Bell expedited the Quaffle between the raised hands of the Hufflepuff Keeper. "And as for the brooms, the only player who really needs a world-class one is Longbottom. Now-"

A bright blue flash illuminated the battlefield, loud alert something magical had just interrupted the game. Alexandra was not looking directly at it when it happened, but was partially blinded all the same. Judging by the cry of surprise next to her, Nigel had suffered more or less the same thing.

 _Magical explosion_ , was the first thought coming in Alexandra's head. The second was, _better buy some magical-protected goggles for the next time it happens_. With the long experience of someone having already faced lethal threats, the black-haired witch rapidly searched in the crowd who had been guilty of that nasty and not-funny-at-all surprise.

But in the chaos, there was really no clues allowing her green eyes to pierce the huge confusion developing. Most of the Quidditch pitch was covered in a night-coloured smoke. The portion of the Ravenclaw stands had received their own attention, being partially covered in blue-grey clouds. From Alexandra's position at the top of the tribunes, the twelve-year old witch could see the entire stadium had been targeted. Red fireworks spread among the places where the Gryffindor sat. There were some sorts of flashes in the crowd of Slytherin. And the Hufflepuffs saw mini-lightning thrown at them. It was all that could be seen with all this smoke. Well the smoke and the precipitation her fellow Ravenclaws descended the stands.

Alexandra had seen in the now destroyed fortress of Brise-Roc how a goblin army rose to challenge a monster they couldn't possibly beat or even hurt. Discipline, blood thirst and a total disregard for their own deaths had been the main strengths of the warrior race. The Hogwarts students' reaction was totally at the other extreme of the goblins defiance. Stunned by the smoke, the lights and the noise made by the attacks, the young and old teenagers panicked and fled like a group of disheartened sheep. Here and there, one student stood his ground, but these were lone bastion of strength in a sea of cowardice. Everyone rushed to descend the stairs, generating more confusion and damage, with the weakest students being quasi-trampled by the torrent of fleeing wizards and witches. In ten seconds, Nigel and Alexandra herself were the only students who had kept their calm and stood where they watched the cacophony engulfing the stairs and every part of the pitch.

And then the magical assault brutally stopped, disappearing as quickly and unpredictably as it had started.

One by one the students paused and stopped their race in the wooden enchanted stairs.

There were many girls and boys bleeding, thanks to the force their own housemates had used to push them out of their way.

A look at the pitch hinted they were perhaps the lucky ones. The Quidditch teams had been as surprised as the spectators, but the latter had had their backsides solidly supported by the stands. The former had been on brooms flying at impressive speeds, and taking a sort of magical firework when your eyes were occupied by one of the four official balls could lead to grave issues.

Issues which had indeed happened.

On the grass, the immobile forms of one Gryffindor and two Hufflepuffs were encircled by the rest of their teammates. If Alexandra was watching correctly the truth, Spinnet, McManus and Fleet had been somehow stricken and had fallen off their brooms. Fortunately, their postures and the Professors running towards them made clear a few spells had managed to slow down what would have been otherwise a fatal fall. Three brooms broken in various parts and spread out on the pitch revealed their efforts had not been perfect; no doubt the Badgers and the Lioness were going to book a lengthy stay in the infirmary.

Now alone with Nigel in their portion of the stands, Alexandra contemplated thoughtfully the debacle.

"If they find the person who did this..." Started Nigel.

"Given the Professors skills in investigation this last year...and the year before for that matter...I don't think they will catch the guilty parties."

It was perhaps pessimistic, and Alexandra wished she was lying, but the entire attack had been well organised and executed. The Heads of Houses had normally difficulties to catch and prove the Weasley Twins were responsible of their own pranks, and this incident was quite a notch above them.

"But what was the point?" Demanded rhetorically the Gryffindor wizard.

The person or persons who had engineered the interruption of the Quidditch match had apparently thought someone was going to ask this very question. At forty feet of altitude, gigantic green flames coming from nowhere wrote a sinister message.

TREMBLE

BEFORE THE MIGHT

OF SLYTHERIN'S HEIR

"Oh, shit." Screamed a fifth-year Ravenclaw in the stairs. "It's the Heir! He's going to petrify us all! Run!"

The Prefect next to him, who should have been able to calm the alarmist boy and stopped him from spreading panic, chose to rush downstairs on the Hogwarts grounds.

"Should not we run, Alex?" The voice of the Lion was trembling, and Professor McGonagall on the pitch blasting away the ugly message with a twirl of her wand had not managed to make spirits recover.

"The Heir is long gone.""

Alexandra could not say what had led her to this conclusion. Intuition? Studies of the Heir's past attacks? Slytherins always liked to attack in the shadows and where they weren't expected. True Slytherins of course. Crabbe, Goyle and Draco Malfoy didn't count.

"Assuming you're right...do you think there have been other attacks in the castle? I mean if everything was time-delayed to go off during the match, the Heir could-"

"-attack with his Monster while everyone was busy shouting for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff? Yes."

Alexandra closed her eyes and tried to ignore the awful sensation spreading in her stomach and the rest of her veins. Hermione and Morag were in the castle. Hermione would quite a prime target due to her simple existence and the fact their Gryffindor friend ridiculed every claim of pure-blood supremacy every time she opened her mouth.

"Should we not run?"

Alexandra made a negative nod.

"If we had the power to bypass the Hogwarts wards and teleport myself directly to our study room or the library, we may arrive in time. But with this crowd?"

On the pitch and the grounds between the stadium and Hogwarts, hundreds of students formed a dense, panicked mass that went in every direction without any discernable purposes. There was no Nimbus or a flying broom quickly reachable to avoid this tumult.

"I thought-" Nigel found difficulties to find his words. "They are our friends-"

"Yes. And Nigel what do you think is going to happen if we rush head first in danger?"

"Bad things?"

This was a generous understatement. Death was not in general a good thing...and neither was petrifaction.

"At best, we arrive too late. At worse...we will be petrified. Or missing. Or dead."

"I see." The voice of the Gryffindor translated clearly the contrary.

"Don't mistake me." Alexandra closed temporarily her yes before reopening them and pinching her nose in angst. "No matter who was attacked, the Heir and those who help him have proven they are too dangerous to be left on their own devices."

"It's time to act?"

"Yes. Yes, I think it's time. Now let's find a way to see how bad things are in the castle."

A few minutes later and a couple dozen of judicious applications of the Levitation Charm, the two members of the Exiled had the first inklings of the answer. It was bad. On the stairs leading to the second floor, three Gryffindors first-years laid petrified.

"Jade, Abigail and Rosalyn..." Said in a shocked and dramatic voice a Gryffindor Prefect. The sixth-year girl looked ready to burst into tears. "I thought they had wanted to stay in the Common Room..."

Bypassing the crowd encircling the victims of the Heir, Alexandra and about twenty Ravenclaws went up, searching for any clues of more attacks. Hogwarts was plunged into an unreal silence. The animations of the armours had stopped. The figures of the portraits were not talking anymore. Only the footsteps of the living resonated in the corridors, quasi-running in the corridors in fear and angst. After ten minutes, alerted by the cries of alarms of a group of Hufflepuff, they found them on the fourth floor.

First to come into view was a older girl with long blonde hair. Alexandra knew her. Penelope Clearwater, Prefect and sixth-year Ravenclaw. One of the kindest authority figures among the Raven's tower. She was also a Muggle-born.

Close to her was the peculiar girl who had just talked to them before they went to Quidditch. Luna Lovegood. The serene face of the first-year witched was tranquil, contrasting greatly to the face of horror showed by the Prefect. There was a Hufflepuff boy too. Alexandra couldn't put a name, but his height and the general common robes on a week-end tended to make him a first-year coming from a non-magical background.

And six feet behind them...

Hermione had still a surprised expression on her face when she had been petrified. Her hair seem a bit dishevelled from the moment Alexandra had seen her half an hour ago. Her Gryffindor friend was holding a small mirror in her right hand, one the raven-haired witch had seen Morag use during the week-ends or after their duels sometimes to keep an 'acceptable' appearance.

Morag harboured a more resolute and firm expression, like she had been preparing to fight her opponent. The wand of the red-haired witch was in her hand anyway. Not that it seemed to have mattered. The MacDougal Heiress was petrified. One glance around revealed no trace of spell fire in the corridor. Bad. The enemy had managed to defeat them before a single spell was on their lips.

A song came to the mind of the Potter Heiress. One she had hoped there would never be any occasion to sing.

 _Cold be hand and heart and bone,_

 _and cold be sleep under stone:_

 _never more to wake on stony bed,_

 _never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead._

 _In the black wind the stars shall die,_

 _and still on gold here let them lie,_

 _till the dark lord lifts his hand_

 _over dead sea and withered land._

"The _Lord of the Rings_ again?" The visage of Nigel was gloomy, even at the light of the torches lightening the dark corridor. There was no windows, no portraits in this section of the castle.

"It's appropriate, no?" Alexandra bent over Hermione petrified body and tried to see if her friend had left something, anything that could give them a clue. It did not take long to find it. The piece of paper had been caught between the petrified fingers...it took a lot of creativity to release it without causing harm to Hermione's skin.

The message was in Hermione's writing and had been clearly written in a hurry. The parchment was torn, the ink had dropped several times on the text and the corners. A far cry from the perfect essays the second-year best student redacted every week. But even with a couple of unintelligible letters, Alexandra had no difficulty deciphering it, Nigel casting a quick Lumos to read it by her side.

THE KING OF SNAKES

"What does it mean, Alex?"

"Basilisk..."


	38. Cut the Head and the Body Dies

**Chapter 38**

 **Cut the Head and the Body Dies**

 **18** **th** **March 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"Of the many fearsome lands that haunt our land, there is none more curious nor deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach a gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside its most deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spider flee before the Basilisk, for it is their natural enemy, and the Basilisk flees only before the crowning of a rooster, which is fatal to it."

Nigel finished the long paragraph in a dubitative voice. The Potter Heiress didn't blame him in the least. Some books were saying particularly stupid things, but this one was an award winner by itself.

"Well this garbage was unsurprisingly unhelpful." Said Alexandra, sighing in a theatrical manner. "What was the name of this one?"

" _Most Macabre Monstrosities_." Replied the Gryffindor, putting back the book on the table of their study room with a disgusted glance.

"Figures. We will put it back with the other useless books which give misleading information and should be thrown out of any respectable library." The green-eyed witch took her quill and noted the book's title on the parchment before her. "Best write the name to make sure we don't try to use this waste of paper for anything important in our studies."

All of the conversation was in whispers, protected by spells of repulsion and disorientation. Unable to use their private study room, the Ravenclaw witch and the Gryffindor wizard had to use a little frequented wing of the library and hope their spells and the boring aspect of the Runes which were invented two thousand years before the Christ managed to deter all potential spies. They were only two of their group left now. Never before had the absence of Hermione and Morag had been so deeply felt.

"It won't be in this book we will find a solution anyway." It was Nigel's turn to sigh with a disappointed mood. "And all the methods you found to be protected from a Basilisk were pretty...expensive?"

"You can say it, Nigel. They are ruinous." Alexandra remarked, trying to loosen her tightening fists. In a perfect world, the teachers and some of their fellow students would have helped financially get them rid of the Monster of Slytherin. But this was Hogwarts, and even their fellow Ravenclaws preferred to be deaf, blind and embrace a cowardly attitude when it came to the Heir of Slytherin.

"Yes...I don't think we have the gold for one of the plans you have made, never mind all of them." The admission was pronounced in an even lower tone, as a crack behind them of an ancient bookshelf resonated.

"That's right. On the other hand...all the gold in the world will not be of great use if we drop dead the next day."

There might be a small mountain of gold waiting in her trust vault by her standards, but it wouldn't be very useful if she didn't survive this year.

"You have a point."

"I'd rather not have one." Sighed the Potter Heiress. "Especially given what is against us."

Basilisk.

Alexandra had supposed that after Brise-Roc and confronting a gigantic Salamander from an unknown Hell head-on, there had been no magical animals left to frighten her in this world and the next.

Now she knew how naive it had been. The Monster of the Chamber of Secrets truly deserved its title.

Basilisk. The King of Serpents. The Bane of Moldavia. The Doom of the Aztecs. The Herald of Death. And a lot of nicknames and titles that were neither polite nor amusing to repeat in public.

Of the eighty-nine creatures types classed XXXXX by the International Confederation of Wizards, the colossal snake was one of the most dangerous in its own right. That was quite saying something, because to enter this category the animal had to be a known wizard-killer, be incredibly hard to slay for a battalion of conventional Aurors - or whatever the country's equivalent was – and be quasi-impossible to tame. If the thing was impossible to kill by mortal means, then it was a XXXXXX-class creature. The Basilisk avoided this latter category. Barely.

The fangs would have been bad enough. Covered in lethal venom which killed practically everything magical and non-magical living being in twenty-six seconds, the dentition of a Basilisk could have shamed a T-Rex. The only known antidote to the poison was Phoenix tears, and it was extremely debatable if it would do any good after the abomination had swallowed a leg or an arm of yours.

Second weapon was the deathly glare. Apparently the species of Medusa, a species created by Greek wizards having way too much free time for idiocies and develop their god-like ego, had had too much limitations for certain magical evil geniuses. The answer was the Basilisk. At maturity, the snake could control the sheer magical power of its eyes, and the victim would be stunned, petrified or killed depending on the Basilisk intention. At first, Alexandra had wondered why the 'stunned' capacity was important. The Potter Heiress now realised she could have lived with ignorance. The Basilisk loved its sustenance alive.

But the worst part was the too-many-times-forgotten scales of the monster. A Basilisk shed its skin once every couple of years and the new scales replacing the former were always more resistant to magical means. At fifty years of age, Basilisks had been known to survive point-blank Killing Curses, the lethal and impossible to parry Unforgiveable spell. A Middle Ages peasant armed with a pitchfork had more chances against a Basilisk than an Auror in his prime.

After that, the over-developed sense of smell was kind of unimpressive. Like the sharks, a Basilisk could smell a drop of blood, but at a distance of a hundred kilometres once mature. Goodbye surprise effect.

The beast had no hearing due to the Basilisk being a snake, but with its tongue the creature could detect any movements at incredible distances. That was not a surprise, but Alexandra would have preferred the King of Serpents had not all the strengths and none of the weaknesses of his smaller and non-magical cousins.

Oh, and its tail had barbed thorns which had been reported to shred steel and stone like it was paper.

In short, the Basilisk was perhaps not the ultimate killing machine of the Wizarding World...but if it was not then Alexandra had really no intention to see what was more redoubtable. According to Nigel, the Nundu was on the same level, but the feline species had not been created by mad wizards. It also could not kill you with a glance, and had never been sighted once in the vicinity of the United Kingdom.

 _Though with our chance in this school I wouldn't bet against one for next year. What's next? Dragons? Vampires? Werewolves?_

"The eyes...it's the eyes that are the problem." Remarked absently Alexandra.

"And the fangs? The poison? Or the thorns?" The voice of her Gryffindor friend was dry enough to sunder Middle Earth twice over.

"Those can be avoided if you stay at long distance of this monster." Alexandra grimaced internally as she affirmed that sentence. 'Stay at long distance'. Hell. The safe distance for a Basilisk was a continent away, not a mile or two. She had spent a lot of sleepless nights since the disastrous Quidditch match thinking a Basilisk was nearby. "No it's the eyes that are the problem. One look and it's over. I suppose it would be too much to ask for a famous legendary Auror in the active roster of the British Isles to be blind?"

"Well, there's this crazy paranoid Auror named 'Mad Eye' Moody. I think."

"I heard of him when I searched the Daily Prophet archives. Is he that good?"

Of course the nickname Mad Eye was not a good sign...

"Rumour is half of the Azkaban inmates are here because of him." Murmured the auburn-haired boy.

 _I wonder if it means he is that good or the other Aurors were so pathetic..._

"Never mind." Said the black-haired girl after searching during ten minutes a few papers of the Daily Prophet published in the early 1980s. "If our favourite biased newspaper can be trusted, the man has never been blind, he just lost one eye. Moreover, Auror Moody replaced his missing eye with a magical one. This Auror would likely be petrified like the other victims, and he has likely never trained to fight without his eyes."

"So back to the beginning? Most of the enchanted objects created by famous enchanters are useless against a Basilisk gaze."

"But there is one we could be able to use. The Eye of Horus, jewel of the Pharaohs of old."

"Alex, we have no chance to convince the Egyptian government to give it us. It's one of their most famous treasures!"

 _And one of the most powerful_ , thought the black-haired Ravenclaw. The Eye was a formidable piece of magic, giving its owner incredible defensive powers. And the only drawback was that it had to recharge at the light of the sun. Having it for their fight against the Basilisk would make the battle a walk-over...and the chances of obtaining it were close to zero.

"You're right. You're right. But it is the only one that can be used with no major inconveniences. The other two are Dark Artefacts, specifically created to be wielded by Dark Wizards. The Bloody Draconite and the Galdrabok."

The two names were already repugnant. The description of their powers discovered in an old book of the artefacts section was worse. The Bloody Draconite was a creation of Romanian wizards, which in theory had been able to protect its wielder from any magical and non-magical attack. Forged by a concoction of alchemical origin and the beating heart of a dragon, the creation had done exactly what it had been created for. There had been a minor catch, however. The Bloody Draconite wanted human blood in exchange for the protection demanded. And the more, the merrier. If the attacks parried were growing in power, then the cursed artefact wanted more blood. Whether the wielder gave his own or took it from other bodies did not matter. It 'just' had to be human blood. Rivers of blood. Some pretended it was able to stop the Killing Curse, at the price of depopulating entire towns.

The Galdrabok was an Icelandic forgotten book, whose legend told it contained spell able to anything the reader wished. It did not look so bad...until the fact it was composed of human wizard's skins and written in witches' blood. Reading it caused a permanent loss of sanity.

All two methods had been used with success against a Basilisk in the past, in the Bloody Draconite's case the dark alchemic invention had been deliberately created to combat said threat. Each time the Dark Wizard that had dared take used it had been killed by his own government moments after his victory over the King of Snakes. Never mind that said politicians had done nothing to stop the XXXXX creature.

"And these Dark Wizards are not the grey-dark wizards the Ministry is so concerned about. You have to darken your very soul to use these kinds of heirlooms."

"Not worth the price." Dark Magic may give terrible offensive powers but Alexandra wanted to enjoy life and what came after. "We can't use them, and they have not been seen in centuries. It's a dead end. Unless you believe a rooster can do the job?"

Both the Gryffindor boy and the Ravenclaw snorted. The legend a rooster could kill a Basilisk still persisted after hundreds of centuries, no matter the evidence against. Usually it resulted in giving a nice breakfast to the Monster before it went killing more wizards.

But then the Basilisk was not something born from the unnatural union of a toad and a chicken. The King of Snakes was the sum of horrific experiences in crossbreeding between the most dangerous species of snakes supported by incubators created by dark alchemy.

It went without saying that if Salazar Slytherin was alive, the Potter Heiress would kill him directly for having the temerity to dabble in these atrocious experiments.

"What we need is time...my father will receive our letter." Nigel spoke again. "So will Morag's parents. They will have a solution."

"I don't share your optimism. It has been nearly a month, Nigel."

"I know. But owls aren't intercepted, and your Atalanta is a smart owl. I'm sure she would have noticed if someone tried to steal the letters."

"The courier arrives every morning does not mean owls aren't intercepted. Not every disruption can be seen by a naked eye."

Alexandra had the very bad feeling the formidable wards of Hogwarts, unable to counter the threat of the dreaded Basilisk, were now used for something far more sneaky and underhanded, preventing the Ministry and concerned parents to intervene in the school in danger. The main suspect would have been Dumbledore months ago. But the Chief Warlock was not here. Perhaps it was the Heir or another of his accomplices.

"I don't know why they haven't answered our letters though I have my suspicions. But one thing is sure: we don't have months."

An ambiance of terror had developed inside Hogwarts walls after the attacks of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. The new series of petrifactions by itself would have been largely enough to make the younger students shiver; the large magical demonstration on the Quidditch Pitch was a power-play of a different level altogether.

In front of the gathered Professors, the persons acting in the name of the Heir had planned and executed an impressive attack...and they had gotten away with it.

The students were not scared anymore by the Heir. They were completely and utterly terrified.

The teachers had tried reassuring words the whole day and the week after, in pure loss. To be fair, the intervention of the Minister of Magic Fudge had probably quite something to do with it.

Six days after the attack, on Saturday evening, the highest government official of the British Ministry had entered the Hall to deliver the 'good news'.

A suspect in the case of the Chamber of Secrets had been arrested. At first they had been a slim hope in their hearts but then they had learned the 'suspect' was none other than the Keeper of the Keys, Rubeus Hagrid. In the next days, Alexandra had been unable to say if it was at that moment or shortly after that she had understood the wizard at the top of the Ministry hierarchy was a complete moron. It was not supposed to be a surprise, but the Wizengamot was indeed so jealous of its power that the most influent Houses had chosen a perfect imbecile for the job.

Headmaster Dumbledore had been suspended 'temporarily' of his functions, in a rarely unanimous move of the Board of Governors. Rumours that Lord Malfoy had arrived to this outcome by blackmail and threat had been ignored. Professor McGonagall had been named as temporary Headmistress for the interim crisis. A full squad of Aurors had been stationed in the school itself, patrolling and searching the school for dark heirlooms and the Heir of Slytherin. All of this news had been pronounced with a big smile and the "certain assurance", in the Minister own words, that this crisis was over.

There had been no more attacks signed in blood-like substances or bearing the Slytherin insignia from that moment. There was no need to.

Most of the liberties taken for granted in a school were now gone, and Hogwarts had transformed into something part-prison and part-dictatorship. The only places the students had now the right to be were the dorms, the Common Room of their own House, the library, the classrooms and the Great Hall. And to go from one to another, they had to be escorted at all times by a Professor.

Quidditch matches had been cancelled. Clubs had been cancelled. The Hogwarts choir had been cancelled. Studying on its own in abandoned classroom was no longer possible. Walking alone on the Hogwarts grounds was no longer authorised. It was anybody's estimate how long it would take before going to the toilets with an adult supervising was the norm.

"What we need is a plan."

"I have one." Said sombrely Alexandra. A plan which frankly had been done in a hurry and in anger when she had watched Madam Pomfrey take away the petrified bodies of Morag and Hermione.

"Besides killing half of Slytherin House, and let magic sort them out." The auburn-haired boy précised.

"Don't defend them, Nigel. Do you hear them speaking in classes and in the Great Hall?"

If one had believed the Slytherins had been arrogant before the attacks, then the aftermath had seen them rise to new levels of bigotry and idiocy in their quest for pure-blood supremacy.

Where before only one or two idiots like Draco Malfoy had been willing to speak the word 'Mudblood' in public, almost two-thirds of the House was now telling slurs and various insults to whoever they thought was a 'Mudblood', a 'blood-traitor' or 'a half-blood bint that has no place among us'.

The rapport of strength in Slytherin House had been changed overnight. For the worse and for the worst.

More worrying, the majority of the teachers did not punish them for these insults and veiled threats. Professors Flitwick, Dhillon and Sprout did: for example at the last class of Charms over three weeks of detention had been distributed to the second-years Snakes and fifty House points lost. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Tiroflan, Porchester, Sinistra, Agarkar and Reed sometimes took points and detentions, but rarely stopped in the corridors unless the duel of words escalated to physical or magical violence. For the History section, no one had expected anything else, but the refusal of the rest of the staff to enforce discipline and generally do their job was really heart-breaking.

McGonagall was equally as useless: she punished everyone involved in these arguments, which sounded a very reasonable policy: Alexandra and Nigel had had following Tuesday lunch to console a first-year Hufflepuff girl that had just been told by a third-year Slytherin 'if your parents had a bit dignity, they would have drowned you in a well at birth'. When the girl had tried to punch her much bigger opponent in the face, McGonagall had arrived and started distributing detentions. Alexandra had only been too happy to teach the first-year two nasty hexes when the useless Head of Gryffindor had turned her back.

And the Slytherin Professors did not bother reprimanding their charges. Snape and Whitehead removed points and gave detentions...to all Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff involved. Alexandra had never shared the deep distaste the Gryffindors had for their Potions Professors, but she was evolving towards that point. Snape wasn't punishing his bigot students sprouting a racist agenda...good example for the young generations, no?

 _Do someone in this school is realising where it's going?_

Hogwarts had become a place where everyone was ready to flee or draw the wand at any moment.

The Aurors, far from stopping this paranoia, were thriving and encouraging it. Of course, half of them were former Slytherins, so it wasn't that out of the magical norms.

"Let's take a step and say the Professors have abandoned the idea of solving the problem, and are waiting the end of the year to fill their trunks. Some may leave permanently."

Not that it would be a bad thing in some cases.

"Maybe we will have to do the same thing, Alex."

"With a Basilisk stalking us? Oh, definitely." Waking up every morning and taking the risk of meeting a King of the Snakes at every corner was a bit too risky for her. The Potter heiress smiled. "But the points I told once about foreign schools still stand. So we will try my plan first. We can always try the transfer to Beauxbatons as plan B."

"And what is your plan A?" Nigel's voice was heavy with scepticism.

"Plan A is buying the beast we spoke about yesterday. I can pay for it...though I will not say no to a refund of yours."

"Well, admitting your...audacious plan work, Alex, I will convince my father to pay you the sum due. But that leaves the Basilisk only blinded. How do you intent to kill it?"

It was a fair point. Even blinded the Basilisk would still have the venom, the thorns and the rest of its nightmarish arsenal to kill them.

"The sword that I took from the goblin arsenal of Brise-Roc should do the job. Glamdring will be our ace to slay the King of Snakes."

"Risky. You have not tested it."

Alexandra chuckled at that remark. Since there was about one Basilisk in the totality of Europe right now – one guess where it was living – testing if a weapon was able to slay a Basilisk or not was a bit complicated.

"No, but unless I'm missing something, my blade has some proprieties of Goblin Steel. If it isn't enough to shred the Basilisk scales, it is likely nothing will."

"Can we not take other weapons?"

Alexandra fixed the list of books she had read from first to last page in the hope of finding an alternative.

"Oh sure, we can try the normal swords and weapons carried by Hogwarts statues, but I doubt there will do much good. Otherwise there are only four options. There is the Sword of Gryffindor. The Sky Bow of Rowena Ravenclaw. The Jewelled Dagger of Salazar Slytherin. And the Axe of Helga Hufflepuff." Alexandra rolled her eyes and added as an after-thought. "All lost for more than a thousand years."

"Very useful." Nigel rolled his eyes in turn.

"I'm not responsible for the fact the Founders descendants weren't able to keep their affairs in order." Shrugged the green-eyed witch.

"No. And buying Goblin Steel..."

"A sword of this metal cost in the tens thousands of Galleons."

Nigel frowned. Alexandra didn't blame him. The young witch knew metals goblin-enchanted had to cost a fortune, but it had been an abstract thing. After a short series of question with Flitwick, the abstract had become clearer. Weapons forged by Gringotts were so expensive that pre-war House Potter would have had difficulties requesting their services. Right at this moment, it wasn't an option anymore.

"We are going to need allies, if only to defeat the allies of the Heir."

"Our Slytherin...allies...will not be able to stand with us. And this time I can't blame them."

In most normal circumstances, standing against your own House was not fun at all. The black-haired witch had long noticed the bullied at Privet Drive and Hogwarts had a tendency to curb the head and let the sleeping dragons where they were. A House had to appear united. Those who broke the rule regretted it sooner or later.

With Hogwarts as it was, standing against your own House in the Viper's Den was risking your life. Lyre de Male-Foi had accepted to give the two Exiled precious information under the table, and Alexandra had profusely thanked the first-year Slytherin for it. Greengrass, Davis and Zabini, on the other hand, acted like they had never engaged a non-Slytherin in all their lives.

Sometimes, the reliability of the English pure-bloods sucked. A lot. And yes, Lyre was French while Morag was Irish. The irony was not lost on her.

"We could convince the Ravenclaws and the two other Houses to demolish the Snake leaders."

"Pre-emptive strike against the Death Eaters in training, you mean?"

Nigel reluctantly nodded. It would have been a good strategy...if her fellow housemates had something in their hearts that the Gryffindors called 'courage'.

"And how would we incite them to do that? It could work...if we knew all the Slytherin leaders and my own House could be trusted to act."

"Lyre gave you a lot of names."

"Yes, she did, and don't think I'm not thankful." Alexandra paused. "But the names she gave are all the most vocal and purist imbeciles of the dungeons. There is no way that any of them is the mastermind behind the attacks."

"Really?"

"I did my research, Nigel. I am a Ravenclaw."

"Of course, of course."

A series of parchments was grabbed out of her school bag, before forming a pile on the library table.

"Let's begin by the worst. Lewis Wilkes, last of the Wilkes line. Already condemned for three attacks on Muggles in the last two years. Only the fact the victims were of non-magical background and the wealth in his family vaults allowed him to keep his wand. In my opinion, Wilkes should be at Azkaban right now. How Dumbledore allowed him to go back to Hogwarts for his last years, I haven't the slightest idea."

Lewis Wilkes was more or less the proof that Wizengamot families had been granted too much power when the ancient Council of Wizards had been founded centuries ago. The green-eyed girl passed to the second parchment.

"Thomson Carrow, the Heir of the Carrow family. I thought Hestia and Flora in our year were sadists and insane, but they may be the sane ones. There are rumours everywhere this sixth-year snake is regularly frequenting the dirtiest places of Knockturn Alley, and not for the thrill of walking in its streets. Never went in front of a judge, the proofs have a tendency to disappear at the first bag of Galleons."

Third parchment. Third grimace.

"Jared Miller, the Heir of the Miller family. Not a criminal in the British Isles, but there is an arrest warrant for him in Albania..."

"Certainly his family wanted to have...fun..." The face of Nigel was very pale.

"Death Eaters?"

"Never proved."

"Figures."

It was really appalling to know many of these Houses had practised these awful activities for decades and maybe longer. If the Ministry had had some guts, they would have sent all these assassins and criminals to Azkaban, and the world would have been a better place.

"The rest of the probable suspects are in a lesser league. Cassius Warrington. Graham Montague. Dermot Ardoch. Berrow, Lament, Rosier, Nott and plenty of other families having been noted in the past to have Death Eaters sympathies."

Alexandra widened her lips to make a half-grimace half-smile.

"Slytherin is really a cesspit of evil and darkness." Concluded the green-eyed witch.

"And you really intend to...do something drastic about them?"

"Nigel. These boys seem to believe petrifying our friends and considering us animals is perfectly acceptable. If they begin to send Unforgivables, I am not going to reply with Expelliarmus and Petrificus Totalus."

The library section went completely silent as the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw eyes were fixed on each other, and some laughter of the other second-year students were heard in the distance.

"What if you started the enigma in the wrong sense of the term, Alex?" Demanded her friend after half a minute.

"What do you mean?"

"The reason all these persons have been attacked."

"Nigel, they've been attacked because-"

"-because they're 'Mudbloods', 'dirty Half-Bloods' and 'blood-traitors', yes we've been over that for hours. But why them in particular?"

"Because the Heir could target them easily?"

The Heir had profited from the Quidditch Matches, their aftermath or the Halloween Feast. Her theory had been that the Monster had struck whoever was available on these days.

"I don't think so. Look, some attacks have taken place on the second floor, but the other are dispersed all over the castle. I think the Heir targeted precisely every victim."

"That...doesn't make any sense."

Though it would explain why so few students had been petrified on the first attacks.

"You're the Ravenclaw. Logic is your domain."

"Touché. But that still doesn't make any sense."

"Assuming your theory the Heir attacked every victim because they represented a potential danger to him, Filch is easy to explain. Our lovely caretaker and his cat know a lot of secret passages and patrol very aggressively the corridors on night and day. Removing him is easy to explain."

"You see..."

Alexandra had not finished her reasoning however.

"But if Filch is easy to explain, the others are not. I suppose the Heir could have chosen Hermione and Morag because they did research on the Monster and the genealogy of the extinct Slytherin line."

"Yeah, about that..."

"What is done is done." Alexandra shrugged. "There is no turning back right now. But why Creevey? This photograph-lover Lion was rude and impolite in the extreme...but he was so focused in Neville Longbottom, that...well, you know..."

"Yes, I know."

Colin Creevey moves to stalk the Boy-Who-Lived had been strange, and many older years thought the apprentice in photography was going to declare his love for the Longbottom Heir before he was petrified. Apparently same-sex relationships were far better considered than they were in the non-magical world.

"Luna Lovegood. Why target her?" Asked the Ravenclaw twelve-years old to herself, both hands on her forehead.

"One of her bullies?"

"No. Not enough intelligence there." Alexandra was not kidding. Cho Chang might be pretty and lead her group of third-years girl, but in term of raw magical power and brains, she wasn't by far the smartest of the Ravenclaw. Putting in her place the Asian girl had not been difficult. Alexandra had not been happy after Hermione and Morag were petrified, and the revelations of bullying had not put her in a better mood. Unfortunately for Chang, Lightning spells had become a specialty for her...and they were really useful conveying her displeasure.

"Why Justin Finch-Fletchey? The only thing I remember is that his family is old money in the non-magical world. Besides Justin is fairly sympathetic to everyone save the Slytherins... Why Penelope Clearwater? She's one of the few Prefects that bother doing their job correctly at Hogwarts."

"Penelope was going out with Percy Weasley." Revealed Nigel.

"A means to hurt a Gryffindor? That sounds like a Slytherin plot...in fact no. I doubt any Slytherin girl would want to date a Weasley, or a Slytherin boy to date Penelope."

"Sorry, I was so sure..."

"No need to apologise Nigel. You were right at least on one thing, we didn't study the background of the victims. Any common point on the three Gryffindor girls that were attacked during the match?"

"Well there are all first-years...they are sleeping in the same dorm..."

"Pardon?"

For the first time of their study, Alexandra was stunned. Why had they not thought about something so evident? They had searched the Heir of Slytherin in Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and of course Slytherin. But they had ignored Gryffindor. Because surely a Lion couldn't be an ally of the Snakes, no?

"Err, yes. Why? Is that's interesting?"

"Depends. Who else is in the same dorm?"

"I have not all the names..."

"Please, Nigel...it is important!"

If they had to waste new inquiries in the Gryffindor tower, they would be sure to alert the Heir. After a few seconds of reflexion, Nigel gave her the name.

"Ginny Weasley."

"SHIT!"

"Why do-oh, no. You think?"

"I think the girl is the Heir or someone is usurping her identity? Yes, I am. Remember what you told me during the Quidditch match? Lovegoods and Weasley live in the same village! So if her best friend began to change in behaviour, I think even a strange girl like Luna Lovegood would notice the differences."

"And the others?"

Alexandra took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Creevey takes photos of everything. Maybe he stalked her at a moment the Heir was under a different appearance...then he had to be neutralised. Penelope is a fair Prefect; she cares about all the first-years and helps them when they're lost in the castle. If she tried to help the false Ginny at a moment the Chamber was about to open..."

"Justin?"

"Justin is friends with a lot of Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs share everything in news for the Hogwarts rumour mill. The first-year girls would have noticed if someone tried to do dark magic or something weird in their own dorm."

"By Merlin...it fits."

Alexandra felt excitation make her heart faster. After countless hours in researches they had resolved the mystery.

"Do we confront Ginny or whoever is passing for her?"

"No. Or rather, not yet. We need allies."

Given the fate which had befallen every student close to the 'Heir', prudence was recommended. Since Morag and Hermione were petrified, Nigel and she were the last forces left in reserve. If they were defeated and petrified, there would be no one left to act.

"Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors?"

"Neither. I think it's time to involve the Professors and give their chance."

"They have refused to act...and they know certainly more than they told us."

"Flitwick will help us...and I think it's time to verify how much of a fraud our DADA Professor really is." The smile of Alexandra was larger this time. They would need preparation to corner him but one way or another she was going to have answers. "It's time I have a conversation with the true Gilderoy Lockhart."

Nigel grinned in turn. The Cornish Pixies had never been forgotten.

"What will be the code name of the operation between us? The enemy certainly can change appearance at will..."

Alexandra eyes posed on the monstrous picture of the Basilisk.

"If we cut the head of the snake, the body will die. This will be Operation Kingslayer."

* * *

 **21** **st** **March 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Gilderoy Lockhart smile was very much in abeyance as he emptied the rest of the Firewhiskey bottle in his crystal glass. Taking the later, he emptied it in one gulp and sighed as the alcohol diffused its warmth in his body.

Spy work, he had learned early in his job, could be very unpleasant. You were surrounded constantly by enemies, you could trust no one and most of the times whatever duelling abilities you possessed were completely irrelevant. Gilderoy had thought Hogwarts would be a hard environment, but one he could survive by maintaining his 'narcissist imbecile' persona at all times. It had been obvious Dumbledore had not bothered asking himself if the Lockhart he despised was a mask or not. And the Supreme Mugwump had always been the main danger, with the pet Death Eater serving as Potions Professor a distant second.

But no. Hogwarts was truly a lot of things, but an exemplary school it was not. Students were attacked right and left, wards were activated to prevent the Ministry from intervening and a Monster roamed in the corridors.

The DADA Professor threw a glare at the dozens of portraits of himself spread over his office. This assignment had ceased to be funny long ago and the bigotry of the pure-blood factions had returned in power. It was getting too dangerous for him. He was a spy, not a fighter and while he was far more trained than Dumbledore or the other Professors suspected, his rather lacklustre performance in duelling was a huge drawback.

Truly, he would leave this castle without any regret. His trunks were packed every morning and the sensitive information he had collected was already in the hands of his superiors. Now he just needed to find the good moment to escape. Given the general behaviour of the fraud he was supposed to be, no one would be surprised to hear he had made his escape.

He was sorry for the students, but his sympathy did not overwrite his allegiance and his will to live.

When it came to it after all, he had absolutely no chance against a Basilisk.

* * *

 **23** **rd** **March 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Ginny Weasley opened her eyes. Yawning widely, the red-haired first-year came out of her bed, glancing at her window and noticing the sun had still not risen.

Grumbling against the nightmares that disturbed her sleep and stopped her from enjoying a few more hours of sleep, the eleven-year old get rid of the heavy red blankets and stood. The dorm of the first-year girls was peaceful, with no sound coming from the other beds since their owners were petrified at the infirmary. Yawning again, the young witch marched to the showers with a towel, her soap and her wand.

The growing pain in her chest appeared without any warning. Gasping, the soap and the towel escaped her hands to fall on the floor. Her arms ached and didn't answer anymore. Her legs twisted under her, and it was a downing sensation as the youngest sibling of the Weasley family saw herself falling on her knees. Her back hurt. All her body was in pain. Everything hurt so much. She screamed and moaned in pain. No, she tried. Unexpectedly, her pleas weren't leaving her lips anymore. What was happening to her? She tried to move her arms. Nothing.

With growing fear, Ginny realised her body wasn't answering anymore. The legs, the head, nothing. She was prostrated on the dorms floor, and was unable to do anything.

And then finally the pain stood. Ginny tried to move her arm...and nothing happened.

 _No, no, no. It's a nightmare, isn't it? It's a nightmare..._

"It's not a nightmare."

Ginny's body stood with grace, and in a silent yell the young Gryffindor realised she had lost control of her muscles. Forced in the back of her mind as a spectator, Ginny screamed as the force controlling her body marched to the bathroom and faced the mirror, ignoring her imprecations.

"So loud." The tone of the thing controlling her mouth and the rest of her body was amused."I wonder how I waited to deal with you all these months." The wand went in her right hand and was pointed directly above her heart.

"Umbra Maleficus Illusio."

A ray of red-blackish light struck her.

The youngest Weasley screamed. Or at least she did in her mind, as her body still wasn't answering to her commands. Facing directly the mirror, it was evident her body was changing. Her red hair turned blonde. Not Malfoy-blonde, but the kind of pure blonde colour the French models on Fred and George's boys magazines had. Her eyes took a stunning light violet colour. All her traits were transfigured to take a far refined and noble appearance.

"Perfect." Declared the thing controlling her.

It was her body...and yet it wasn't. The unknown girl now seen in the mirror had some facial similarities to her own, that was true. The form of the jaw, the shape of the eyebrows...those were her own. But the cheekbones, the lips, the eyes and half of her visage had been twisted into something...different.

It was not Ginny Weasley who watched herself in this mirror. It was an arrogant, beautiful and dangerous witch, with a very satisfied expression on her visage.

"Don't worry, Ginevra." The voice which came from these lips was not her own. "This is my body, now...I promise you it will thrive in the service of the Dark."

 _You will not get away with this._

"I think I will." Smiled the...the new girl reflected in the mirror. Who instantly let down Ginny nightgown and let the only daughter of Ginny Weasley admire the changes on all her body, making her blush internally. Her body was literally...enthralling. Hips, legs, chest. Like her visage and her hair, everything of the new girl had modified her body to make it more muscled and desirable. The new appearance was worthy of a fashion model. "Who will save you? Dumbledore is gone, and my Master is going to take care of the Boy-Who-Lived."

 _Neville will destroy you._

"Oh, no. The Heir of Slytherin awaits him...and I am his Herald. Slytherin House is going to rule Hogwarts like it should have done from the very beginning."

 _What sort of monster are you?_

"My name is Scylla Persephone Yaxley. I am the witch you have always chained inside yourself. The power and the skills your mediocrity has wasted during the first ten years of your life. But no more."

 _You are not me. You will never be me!_

"Time to sleep forever, Ginevra. Ginevra. Seriously what sort of mother thinks of such a ridiculous name?"

And then there was only darkness.


	39. The Blood of Slytherin

Author's note: MasterQwertster has graciously accepted to be my beta for this story. Thanks to her efforts, chapters 1 and 2 of _The Odds were never in my favour_ have been corrected and improved. Don't hesitate to thank her!

Warning: This chapter has a lot of violence, blood and death.

 **Chapter 39**

 **The Blood of Slytherin**

 **Battle for the Chamber of Secrets Part I**

 **11 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The Bombardment Charm had never been remarked by the Wizarding World as a tool of subtlety. It was loud. It was noisy. The explosions it created tended to generate a considerable amount of rubble and splinters, a fact which often made it as dangerous for its user as it was for the target. It was the very definition of collateral damage, especially when one magician added the 'Maxima' variant.

It was however a very efficient manner to crush lightly warded obstacles and surprise armed opponents in their own lair.

"Bombarda!" exclaimed the green-eyed Ravenclaw. The lack of hesitation and a large security distance proving beyond doubt the last Potter was very well aware of these specific Charm drawbacks.

The door of the DADA office did not resist the explosion. One moment there was a door. The next there was a huge hole sufficient for a very tall man to enter. On a scale from one to ten, this level of protection was frankly a bit underwhelming.

 _Perhaps a two? I knew the Professors have to assure their own security for their private quarters, but for it to be that bad..._

The occupier of the room did not see it that way of course, given his shocked face. The astonishment did not last. With reflexes completely at odds with his buffoon persona, the man tried to seize his wand on his deck.

 _Oh, no. You don't._

"Naturae Incarcerous!"

A mass of creepers emerged from Alexandra's wand and forced without any gentleness the adult against the back of his chair. Efforts to grab the wand on the desk were futile, as the enchantment added more and more liana out of nowhere. To her right, Nigel's spell stuck the feet of the Professor to the purple carpet. The hands were unable to use any magical focus, given that they were tied behind the man's back. Soon nothing but the head was left uncovered by the magical bindings. Unless the wizard was able to do wandless magic, he was at their mercy.

"Good evening, Professor Lockhart," said cheerfully Alexandra entering in the office she had just slightly damaged. Well, perhaps more than slightly. The desk and the walls were going to need generous incantations of Mending Charms.

"Miss Potter." To his credit, Gilderoy Lockhart's voice was only trembling after Alexandra's rapid assault. "I wasn't expecting you this afternoon."

"It would have kind of defeated the purpose of a surprise visit, no?" asked rhetorically the black-haired witch. The blonde wizard answered by just a curt grunt. It wasn't like he could do anything else, the liana surrounding him were solidly ensuring a 'no escape' clause.

"I think it's time we talk."

Her tone had been cordial, but clearly Lockhart saw something in her eyes he didn't like, because his egoistical personality failed to resurface.

"You don't intend to give me the choice, do you?" sighed the famous author.

The young witch frowned. It was nice to see her suspicions confirmed, but honestly Alexandra had expected a long tirade of how Gilderoy Lockhart was a priceless gem of Magical Britain, to release him and everything would be forgotten. She had not expected such a...resigned tone.

"Of course I will give you a choice! We're in a democracy or so I heard." Alexandra could not help but snicker as Nigel burst in laughter behind Lockhart. "Who do you think I am?"

The Ravenclaw girl had posed this question with a sarcastic tone, but it did not stop Gilderoy Lockhart from answering.

"You are a young witch who has a huge magical potential and a severe mental problem."

Alexandra narrowed her eyes at the supposed 'fraud' in front of her. For a man renowned to have the intelligence of the average sheep, Gilderoy Lockhart's retort had been rather short...and disturbingly accurate.

 _Well I do still have nightmares of all the people I've seen die and the Summon pursuing me once per week. Does that mean I'm crazy?_

"Possible." The Potter Heiress rolled her shoulders in feigned amusement. "But I would argue I'm still one of the sanest persons at Hogwarts."

Whoever Lockhart really was under his fake persona, the wizard didn't share this point of view.

"Miss Potter, when the asylum is run by the inmates, that isn't as much of a consolation as you think."

Inwardly, Alexandra winced. Describing Hogwarts as an asylum wasn't the description she would have chosen. Dictatorship and place of learning for pure-blood bigots was a far more disturbing assessment.

 _If everyone was crazy in the non-magical definition of the term, I think we would have far less problems..._

"This is your opinion and you're entitled to it." The wand with the heartstring of hydra rolled without a conscious thought in her left hand. "Are you ready to answer my questions or should I call the DMLE?"

"Pose them, young Lady."

The reply was pronounced in a formal manner unlike what the green-eyed witch had heard before, and Alexandra filed it away in her mind. She would have to ask Morag for clarifications later when her friend was not petrified anymore.

"Who are you working for?"

The posture of the defeated Professor somewhat relaxed...relatively. A man as bound as he was on his chair was not allowed a lot of freedom to move.

"Confidential. If I told you, I would have to kill you afterwards."

This sentence was spoken in a half-dramatic tone, which would have been a bit more impressive if the DADA teacher was not looking like a big tuna caught in several fishermen's net. Nevertheless, the Ravenclaw girl and the Gryffindor boy each pointed their wands in direction of their teacher's heart.

"Very funny." Alexandra paused, before concentrating a bit and emitting livid blue sparks at the point of her wand. "Is it the ICW? The Death Eaters? A foreign government? The Exchequer?"

In the days after, Alexandra would kick herself to have added the last name to the list of his potential employers. The accent, the background, everything Lockhart had shown them of himself during this year was completely different from the unlamented Professor Devkins. There was no reason why the 'Wizarding hero Lockhart' would have even heard of a name which had no historical references. Their little group was only aware of it because they had stolen the Junior DADA teacher's files last year.

But as she saw the paling face of the bound wizard, the Potter Heiress knew the name meant something to him.

"How in the name of Merlin have you heard that name?"

A Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff perhaps would have told the truth. That said, if Ravenclaw House had told Alexandra something, it was that knowledge was important...and not to be distributed for free.

As a result, the curt answer was: "I have my sources."

"You have no idea the forces you're treading with, Miss Potter." The tone employed by Professor Lockhart was not fearful, but it appeared to be the next best thing to it.

"Would you consider then, helping me understand?"

The wand pointed right between the teacher's eyes made sure it was not a suggestion. Clearing his throat, the wizard who had pretended to be a buffoon for several months explained in a concise manner.

"The Exchequer is a mercenary organisation selling their services to various Dark Lords and other ambitious witches and wizards worldwide. Officially, no ICW-affiliated country or individual with morals will hire them or recognise their existence. For the common wizard and witch, they simply don't exist. They are a group of shadows, impossible to track or to identify. Unofficially...desperate leaders and outlaws with deep pockets are their meeting grounds."

"Their price?" The voice of Nigel was back to his hesitant-self, like in the former situation of trouble they had faced. The retort from the owner of the Order of Merlin Third Class was not endearing either.

"If you manage to find out how and where to contact them, you can probably afford their services." There was not a trace of the smile having won several awards and beauty contests when Lockhart paused. The look he sent Alexandra had nothing warm in it. "How you are even aware of this name, I can't imagine..."

Well, fair was fair. The fake fraud had answered her question after all. Neither Alexandra nor Nigel had any Veritaserum in their pockets, so these were the best revelations they were going to get. Assuming this was not a pack of lies of course. Granted, this did not contradict what their little group had discovered...

 _But we knew next to nothing so it's not exactly a big achievement. On the other hand..._

"One of their agents was here last year," revealed the twelve-year old witch.

"I see."The reply of Gilderoy Lockhart was almost...meditative. "I won't ask what you did to be involved in this mess, but I would advise to stay far away from this organisation. The Exchequer's goals are certainly to target Dumbledore."

"How so?" Not that Alexandra had a problem with them targeting the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but as there was currently no living Dark Lord in Britain, she didn't see why an intervention against the leader of the Wizengamot would be asked.

"Will you swear an Oath of Silence?"

Alexandra sighed. She understood the precautions of the Magical World, but at the rhythm she swore oaths this year, there were going to be contradictory issues by the time she celebrated her fifteenth birthday.

"Yes."

"By the titbits of news I was given...there is conclusive evidence that the Dark Lord Grindelwald was a close associate of their organisation."

Grindelwald. Of course it always came back to him. That was a name Alexandra heard far too often when past crimes and monstrous experiments were discussed. The worst Dark Lord of the century, a master of darkness ten times more destructive and vicious than Voldemort and his Death Eaters and now she learned he had links with the Exchequer. Why had life to be so complicated?

"He is imprisoned at Nurmengard. Sentenced to the hell he himself created."

Lockhart shortly nodded.

"The Exchequer perhaps abandoned him or decided to cut their losses and retreat back to the shadows. Difficult to say when nobody outside their organisation truly knows their goals and their resources."

"Which make us come back to my first question. Who are you working for, Professor Lockhart? Assuming it's your real name, of course."

After seeing Polyjuice in action with the Gryffindors, Alexandra wasn't ready to take anything for granted when it came with the weirdness of the DADA teachers.

"I am Gilderoy Lockhart. Ravenclaw alumni, I received seven OLWS and four NEWTS during my Hogwarts scholarship from 1975 to 1982."

The green-eyed witch snorted.

"Reading the Hogwarts archives told me the same information. For all we know the real Gilderoy Lockhart is dead and you took his place."

"Fine." The blue eyes of Lockhart were a bit miffed at not being taken at his word. "Your mother saved me in October 1976 from a gang of bullies led by Evan Rosier."

That was new Alexandra figured, and indeed had not been available on any record or piece of paper.

"I won't pretend I knew her at all," said the DADA teacher, apologising in advance. "I was a Ravenclaw of the younger years and she was a Gryffindor on her way to becoming Head Girl. But I remember the eyes, the same green eyes..."

"The eyes I have." It was a familiar refrain repeated by a lot of wizards and witches she met.

"Yes. Your eyes. She was also widely recognised as one of the brightest witches having come to Hogwarts. I think she took seven NEWTS in her final exams and achieved 'Outstanding' in all of them. Her talent and intelligence were a massive slap in the face to the pure-blood snobs of Slytherin."

For an instant, Gilderoy Lockhart appeared lost in the midst of his past, before reintegrating the unpleasant present where he was tied to his chair.

"So few wizards and witches remember her today. What a pity."

Nigel opened his mouth to open a new question just as the magically boosted voice of the Head of Gryffindor echoed throughout Hogwarts.

"All students are to return to their dormitories at once. All teachers are to return to their staff room. Immediately, please."

The adult and the two students in the Defence office cursed rather violently after that declaration.

"A new attack."

"We all knew it was coming, Nigel." The auburn-haired boy's grimace was all the confession that he had expected their worst-case scenarios to be pessimistic and alarmist.

"Free me," affirmed Lockhart all a sudden.

"Why? For you to flee the castle as soon as we have our backs turned?" asked derisively his Ravenclaw student. If as a spy Lockhart wanted to continue his cover of hero-fraud, this was the time to take his legs and run towards the Hogwarts gates.

"You expect me to run?"

Alexandra and Nigel could not find a decent answer to this in mere words, but the Potter Heiress hoped that the two glares they sent at the fake-fraud was sufficiently intimidating to convey the message.

"And in your educated opinion, what would be the correct course of action?"

"Go to the staff room and explain to Professor McGonagall what you have learnt." The blonde-haired wizard was visibly trying his best to sound convincing in his tied position. "You certainly look like you have a plan to deal with the Monster of Salazar Slytherin."

"We have," confirmed Alexandra. "But I also know that our dear acting-Headmistress has committed a huge strategic error. You don't announce your intentions to the enemy."

Seriously, the opinion the Potter Heiress had of their acting-Headmistress was close to zero at the moment. Professor McGonagall was unable or unwilling to handle her job of controlling the Gryffindors. She was not doing anything concerning pranks or bullying, not even when it became actively malicious. The Head of Gryffindor had not said anything when these sad excuses of Aurors were doing anything but their jobs. And now she had announced in a magical megaphone she was completely overwhelmed by the turn of events and left her meeting wide open for an ambush of the enemy.

And they wondered why the Light was losing the last war before the Longbottom miracle.

"You assume the Monster is able to deal with all the Professors at the same time."

"The Monster hidden in the Chamber of Secrets is a Basilisk backed by at least half a dozen elder Slytherins. In your opinion is one of the Professors able to deal with it before being turned to stone?"

This time Alexandra honestly regretted that Colin Creevey had been one of the first petrifaction victims. His camera would have been perfect to catch the unbelievable spectacle of their Defence Professor staring at them his mouth wide open. It was so comical the black-haired girl missed the two words coming out of the blonde-haired wizard 's mouth in a whisper.

"I'm afraid I've not heard what you said."

"I said free me, I will help you fight the Heir. However in case I don't survive this you will ensure my trunks are repatriated to this address." And the not-so-idiotic wizard recited in a rapid sentence the address of a house near Oxford. Certainly a safehouse for whoever he was spying for at Hogwarts.

"That can be arranged." Said Alexandra, though she didn't promise the trunks would not be opened and searched for important information first. Fake or not, Gilderoy Lockhart had not answered the important question of where his loyalties laid.

Twirling her wand, Alexandra cast a quick series of Diffindo on the vegetal ropes binding her adult prisoner. Grabbing his wand on the desk, she threw it to him. There was nothing clumsy or frivolous in the manner Lockhart caught the magical piece of wood, the wizard had evidently excellent reflexes and coordination.

"Oh, and Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Potter?"

"If you betray me, I will ensure personally that your death will make you regret not being devoured by the Basilisk. Understood?"

"Crystal clear," replied the blonde fake-fraud. In the best interests of his continued survival, Alexandra hoped he wasn't lying. Because after what had happened so far this year, she wasn't joking at all and would not hesitate to put him down.

"COMBUSTAE FLAMMA!"

The world went completely went out control. A massive section of the office burst into violet flames before shattering in a millions splinters. The books were consumed, the magical portraits screamed before being extinguished by the torrent of magic. Alexandra had just the time to utter "Parma!" but the only mini-shield she knew flickered and broke under the monumental shockwave. The second-year Ravenclaw was thrown out against the wall, took one flying book in the chest and the other in her face. Alexandra felt the taste of her own blood in her mouth, the pain in her back and legs. Still, some of Flitwick's sessions were worse than this.

Grabbing her wand which was lying one foot away, she stood up with difficulty and tried to see what had happened to Lockhart and Nigel. But as her equilibrium came back, her attention was diverted to the massive hole where the last spell had been shouted.

In the breach just created a dark figure advanced. While Alexandra could honestly say she had never seen the clothing with her own eyes, the descriptions in the _Daily Prophet_ and the stories of older students were detailed enough to recognise the infamous accoutrement. Black robes and hood. Silver mask using snake-like traits. A costume which had become a symbol in itself of the last British civil war.

Death Eater.

"Die daughter of a Mudblood whore! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The Death Eater look-alike should have begun with the incantation and not by the insult. Not that Alexandra was going to complain. What remained of Lockhart's desk was thrown in front of her attacker. The livid green light coming out of the wand collided mid-air with the wood furniture, sending more splinters and debris everywhere.

The Death Eater pushed a pathetic scream and looked stunned, as like if he couldn't believe the unblockable Killing Curse had been countered. Alexandra didn't see why, countless wizards throughout history had elevated this technique to the rank of art.

"Glacies Secare!"

The Ice-Saw Charm was a spell Alexandra had never used against a fellow student or a Professor in her life.

"PROTEGO!" Shouted her opponent, and the blue-green light collided with a colourless barrier. "Ha! Ha! You thought-"

Whatever new insult was coming from the Death Eater died on his lips in a scream of agony. His magical shield was perforated by Alexandra's spell, and the incantation which could be generously compared to an overpowered version of an ice-based Cutting Charm cut deeply into his legs. Yes, the main reason she hadn't used this spell on a live target lied in its shield-breaking capabilities. Contrary to the Diffindo, the Glacies Secare was a double-impact spell. Basic shields on average shattered at the first serious impact. Thus the bloody result.

The left leg of her enemy was badly mangled by the blue-green magical cutter. It was the lucky one. The right one was sliced into three parts, and the Death Eater fell on his back without having the chance to cast another curse.

"AAARGGGGHHH!" The charms imbedded in the clothes protecting the anonymity of the pure-blood murderer had failed. The hooded figure's voice was now revealed and sounded like the voice of an older boy...not that Alexandra cared any longer about that. By laws so old they were almost traditions in and of themselves, the witches and wizards using the Killing Curse were condemned to life-sentences in the pleasant resort named Azkaban Prison. But against an Heiress of a House represented in the Wizengamot, this was also an invitation to an honour duel.

Drawing Glamdring from the scabbard she had hidden beneath her robes, Alexandra cast with her wand arm a rapid Expelliarmus. The wand of the Death Eater flew to her feet, not that its owner seemed to have noticed. The silver-masked attacker was screaming in pain and a stream of insults was coming out of his lips.

"You will pay for this Potter! I will kill you! I will bloody teach you how to respect your betters!"

Alexandra did not say a word. This wasn't her style and anyway the Killing Curse was all the justification she needed for the justice courts. Slowly, she raised Glamdring over her head.

"No! Wait! Wait!" The Death Eater realised his desperate situation and instantly stopped his stupid tirade. Not that it was going to save him now.

One powerful strike and the silver sword plunged into the Death Eater rib cage, silencing his last pleas. Drops of blood sprinkled over her robes and her hands. The movements of breathing went frantic before disappearing. The light in the grey eyes on the other side of the mask went out.

"Let the blood of Slytherin flow," murmured darkly Alexandra.

The young Ravenclaw witch waited a few seconds to see if there were more Death Eaters waiting outside, casting several cleaning charms to limit the amount of red-colour. Seeing there was no movement or any sign of an enemy, Alexandra rushed to the corner where Nigel had been blasted unconscious. Using the first-aid Charms Hermione had found in an outdated Healing book, the green-eyed girl sighed in relief. Nigel was going to wake up in a few hours with pain everywhere, a lot of blue skin and one or two impressive scars...but he would live and recover all his faculties. Ultimately, it was everything which mattered.

Using the same spells on Lockhart, the result was far less optimistic. But then Alexandra was no Healer and she could see at once it wasn't good. While Nigel and Alexandra had been thrown away by the shockwave of the unknown spell, the Defence Professor was heavier and had taken the attack in the face...literally. His visage, which had pushed hundreds of witches to the paroxysm of idiocy, was deeply burnt. The right arm and leg had received a fair portion of the fiery punishment too. In fact Gilderoy Lockhart was probably going to like this villain of the comic books Dudley read when he was supposed to do his homework, what was his name by the way? Double-Face or something like that...

Alexandra turned to the Death Eater she had just slain. Removing Glamdring from his rib cage, the Potter Heiress cut the fasteners of the mask to reveal the face of an older student often seen at the Slytherin table sprouting the 'pure-blood superiority' idiocy.

"Thomson Carrow. Why I am not surprised?"

The Heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Carrow had figured on the list of 'most likely suspects' for the entire disaster...but discussing it around a chimney and seeing his corpse in Death Eater clothes were two entirely different things. Moreover, there were going to be severe consequences for her actions. Legitimate defence or not, House Carrow was not going to like at all the minor fact she had murdered one of their scions.

Feeling the familiar disgust which came with the presence of Dark Magic, she unrolled the deceased's sleeves and found it. A proto-Dark Mark, one of the kind the first Knights of Walpurgis had used to brand themselves in the 1960s when the name Voldemort wasn't striking fear in the hearts of the Britain magical community.

A mark Thompson Carrow couldn't earn since the Dark Lord and each of his most powerful lieutenants able to make it were gone or imprisoned in Azkaban. They had disregarded the possibility of the Heir not being a student, but it appeared it was a major miscalculation. The Heir of Slytherin –or the person pretending to be it under Ginny Weasley's face – was at least a member of the Death Eaters' Inner Circle.

 _What I am going to do?_

It bothered Alexandra a lot that she wasn't that angry about having killed another student. It bothered her and yet she couldn't really put her heart in it. Last year Devkins had come close to killing her. Could she hope to win against one of the Dark Lord's elite with one more year under her belt?

 _What I am going to do_?

They wanted to solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets and stop the Heir? In one skirmish she had lost her only ally and a teacher! They were so out of their league it wasn't funny! The Slytherin bigots were now ready to use the vilest curses invented by wizardkind in the corridors of Hogwarts!

 _What I am going to do_?

Loud footsteps were heard in the corridors. Not surprising, really. Their fight had been short, but certainly not silent or discreet. Alexandra felt despair pouring in her veins before gritting her teeth in grim determination. Her plan was in shambles, but the pieces were still in place. It was likely she would need the help of the Gryffindors to storm the Chamber of Secrets but her secret weapon could blind the Basilisk.

 _I am not going to die. That's a promise_.

Rolling up her right sleeve, Alexandra activated the runic sequence the Amazonian magical menagerie had sent her. The cage was now open. The bat huntress was going to begin her hunt for the King of Snakes. There was a chance she would never know the outcome of this confrontation...but if the Basilisk lost the power to kill with his gaze a battalion of Aurors might be able to take it.

Climbing over Carrow's corpse, Alexandra left the ravaged office and faced the incoming wizards and witches. One moment ago, she had felt a small hope it was the Professors coming to investigate. Alas, the hooded figures having stopped forty feet away were not members of the teaching staff. Or if they were, they really had some disturbing choices of clothes.

They were three, and they were wearing similar variations of Carrow's Death Eater costume.

"Potter."

The magical filters were unable to erase fully the venom with which her family name had been pronounced.

"Death Eaters," retorted Alexandra.

"A new age is coming Potter," rasped the central figure. "Declare your allegiance to the cause or suffer the consequences."

Alexandra could not help it. She burst into giggles.

"This is not a joke!" Roared the Death Eater, furious Alexandra wasn't apparently taking him seriously. The green-eyed Ravenclaw stopped laughing with difficulty.

"You're right. Trying to kill me is no joke. And your little friend Randolph Carrow has already attacked me a few minutes ago."

Alexandra took a step forward for the Death Eaters to let them see her blood-stained robe in the light of the torches. Given that she was here and Carrow was not, the message was impossible even for dim-witted pure-bloods to miss.

"Blood-traitor..." whispered hatefully the figure on the right. "How dare you shed the noble blood sustaining our society?"

"My lineage is far more ancient and respectable than yours. Peasant." There was no way to say who was hiding behind the masks, but the remark found its mark. Fists tightened, the little skin which could be seen went red with anger.

"Die traitor! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Death to the Mudbloods! AVADA KEDAVRA!

"The Heir of Slytherin! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Three livid green rays of light came into existence. Three Unforgivables, three Killing Curses, with enough hate and murderous thoughts to send her ten times over into the caverns of Mandos.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The sheer amount of dark magic mustered shattered on the knight's armour she had just levitated in their path. The steel buckled, melted and finally liquefied under the Unforgivables, but it had fulfilled its purpose. The Death Eater on the right fell to a knee on the ground. The two other bigots were trembling on their feet. It was lamentable, a proof their levels of magic definitely weren't used to coping with this deathly power. And it would be their doom. A new Levitation Charm and the debris from the armour was sent at the Junior Death Eaters, sending them to the ground like dominoes.

 _My turn then_.

Nine twirls of her wand, four movements of her sword covered in blood and a very focused visualisation were necessary for the incantation she had in mind. And it wasn't going to be pretty.

"By the power of Pertho, Hagalaz, Eihwaz and Thurisaz, I beseech you thunder of heavens! FULMEN IMPERATOR!"

Alexandra had promised Morag she wouldn't use this spell except in the direst circumstances. The Imperial Thunder Battle-Spell was a reconstitution of some very nasty magical engineering, and needless to say it had been severely restricted in its use by the most narrow-minded Ministry officials.

But the risk was worth it.

An ocean of green-red thunder stormed the corridor, generating an unstoppable wave of destruction. One of the junior Death Eaters began to run as far away as he could, while the two others casted red-grey shields and waited for Alexandra's war-spell to hit them. Alexandra felt her heart beat faster as a fantastic quantity of magic was consumed. She felt her blood sing with the power in her veins. She felt her hairs rise such was the energy she emitted. She felt every little wound Carrow's spell had made on her body.

And then the column of thunder ended as fast as it had begun. Alexandra fell on her knees, out of breath. In a rough estimate, she had the impression of having run five kilometres at full speed. Maybe one-third of her magical core had gone into the Imperial Thunder.

Trying to gain some balance, Alexandra glanced at her enemies and regretted it.

Of the two Death Eaters who had stayed to withstand her attack, their magical wands and their shredded robes were the things having shown the greatest amount of resistance to her lightning incantation. The lightning-based spell had not been content to break their magical shields. It had consumed them. Below the robes, two wizards had been hiding their visages. Now they were only two charred corpses.

Alexandra gagged at the putrid smell of roasted meat.

 _Oh by the eye of Sauron...what I have done?_

There was no point examining them to see if there was any sign of life left in them. No one human could take burns like that and survive.

The Potter Heiress almost collapsed and it wasn't due to magical exhaustion.

 _I killed them. I killed them. I-_

She closed her eyes. She tried to think logically. She tried to analyse the situation like a good Ravenclaw.

 _I killed them. I killed them before they killed me_.

A bitter laugh came to her lips. A few minutes – or was it seconds? – ago, she had been speaking about the blood of Slytherin. And now more and more of the red liquid was shed for this imbecility.

"How many more have I to kill? How much blood must I take on my hands before it ends?"

There was no one to answer the question. Alexandra hadn't expected anything else. She was always alone at the end, no? In the darkness of the cupboard, when she hadn't been able to escape the clutches of Vernon or the rest of her 'family'. In the abyss of Brise-Roc, when magic and steel failed against the monster of another dimension. At Hogwarts, when Professors and students failed routinely to look like a sane and normal school.

Nigel was unconscious. Hermione and Morag were petrified. Flitwick was certainly in the same state. Dumbledore, as much as she disliked the old powerful wizard, was not here. She was alone, tired of this butchery...

A loud sound echoed in the distance. An atrocious hiss resonated in the empty corridors and halls of Hogwarts. A sound which could only be made by one living creature in the magical world.

"Here comes the Basilisk."

* * *

 **11 April 1993, Hogsmeade, Scotland**

Albus Dumbledore watched with cold eyes the castle of Hogwarts in the distance.

On normal occasions, the view of the domain under his charge was sufficient for a smile to come upon his lips. A small fifteen-minute walk was necessary from the emplacement of the first wards protecting Hogwarts to the great doors, and this trip was normally the occasion when he found the time to observe the architecture and the splendour of his school.

Today it was not the case. Today the half-kilometre separating him from the marble stairs was an obstacle in his path. The doors and the stairs leading to them were visible from his position, but they might as well be on the moon for all the good it did.

Fifteen minutes ago, he had emergency Apparated here when he had felt the outer wards of the school being activated for a lock-down. Those wards were the ones he had temporarily given to Minerva's custody per the terms of his suspension. Going on a lock-down was a serious sign that something incredibly grave had happened; given that his Deputy was unable to answer his Patronus, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had arrived rapidly to the conclusion Minerva had been incapacitated.

But then the Head of House Gryffindor was not the only formidable witch or wizard teaching the students nominally under his charge. He had tried to contact Severus and Filius...with the same absence of results. Moving further down the list of teachers he considered reliable, he had sent Patronus after Patronus to be met by the same absence of answers.

The conclusion was obvious: the 'Heir' plot Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends had somehow activated to help their political agenda in the Wizengamot was out of control. In the sanctuary of his mind, the Chief Warlock swore the Malfoy Lord was going to regret it, oh yes. Several 'anonymous denunciations' were going to lead to an increase of the raids on notorious Dark Houses' manors. The Malfoy home was by the way going to be at the top of the list.

Lucius Malfoy had crossed an unacceptable line. As long as he kept his plans far from Hogwarts, the game of politics could be played. But here he had attacked his supporters, his bastion of Light, put in danger the new generation he had carefully mentored. This was unacceptable. The Malfoy patriarch was going to be kicked out of the Board of Governors by the end of the week. Several Ministry commissions Lucius was member of were going to find themselves regretfully announcing his departure. Hagrid, a half-giant who was the personification of innocence, was going to be released at once and several of these so traditional pure-bloods would take his place in Azkaban!

Outwardly he wasn't able to show his wrath of course. Instead a concerned face was projected, with the calm and dedicated leader persona he had created for crises like this. It was particularly needed, because the small task force forming at the edge of Hogwarts' walls was not entirely made of his supporters.

There were several of his Order of the Phoenix wizards and witches perambulating on the grass next to him, having loyally answered his call in this difficult time. Sirius Black had been the first to arrive, followed by Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore, Neal Peakes, Bart William, Kurt Kensington, Violet Pettus and Tyler Marsham. With them, Albus felt sure they could retake the control of Hogwarts when the wards were reset to his control in a bit less than three hours.

Unfortunately, they weren't going to be alone when the imminent time of reckoning came. Lucius Malfoy and a dozen of his minions had come, and this was anything but a surprise really. Albus didn't know if this presence was more motivated by the desire of the Death Eater to see the object of his ambition or to reclaim whatever Dark Artefact he had unleashed inside the walls of Hogwarts, and he really didn't care.

A large number of Aurors had Apparated to Hogsmeade too. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had been exceedingly furious when Minerva had communicated him the names of the idiots assigned to Hogwarts; Fudge apparently had listened to the wrong crowd again and some of the Corps' worst elements had been selected for the boring patrol duties. The DMLE force which was present was far more potent however, with Kingsley and a few of his supporters included in it. According to the communications his agents had overheard, Amelia Bones and a bigger task force were on their way.

And then there were the goblins. Fudge had somehow got the idea that if the legendary monster of the Chamber of Secrets was roaming inside Hogwarts' walls, then it was best to call the best monster-hunters available on short notice. No consideration had been made to the precedent caused by such a demand. There was a reason goblins-in-arms were forbidden outside their sovereign territory of Gringotts! The vicious little beasts were going to take advantage of it, Dumbledore was sure of it.

Goblins were a true and permanent danger threatening the institutions of Magical Britain. Unlike werewolves and skinchangers in general who were cursed to transform three nights a month, these creatures had never been human. They had bloodlust levels similar to the vampire race, but without the impetus to feed on it and the few morals of centuries-old beings. They were not slow-witted like the giants. They controlled the magical economy, which by right should be a human's prerogative!

No, the goblin race was too dangerous and unpredictable to be a productive part of Wizarding society. Like the vampires, their expansion had to be limited at all costs. Their influence over the common wizard had fortunately decreased following the war, with Dumbledore and the Light being able to pass the necessary laws against the bloodsuckers and the warmongering bankers.

It was best however not to rest on one's laurels: that over two hundred goblins armoured from head to toe had been gathered at Hogsmeade was a firm reminder these little beasts remained a threat.

Quite vexing, the goblins refused to speak to him personally and had forced him to use Sturgis Podmore as an intermediary. That the banker-warriors had the best knowledge of what was happening in his beloved school thanks to their vaults' blood wards and their wards-mastery was adding insult to the injury. Dumbledore himself was only aware of the magical alerts ringing when major violations of the School Chart were reported. To date, it had included the three Unforgivables, several Battle-Spells, the wards of several Professors offices being shattered...the list was enough to make a very good book and it increased each minute.

Fortunately, the member of the Order of the Phoenix was coming back. Fighting not to show his irritation and his impatience, the Headmaster of Hogwarts touched in his pocket the Elder Wand, feeling a small infusion of power the instant his fingers came in contact with the wood.

"How things fare inside the school, Sturgis?" asked the Grand Sorcerer to his subordinate who currently had the role of security expert inside the Order.

"Badly, Chief Warlock" answered with deep respect Podmore. "The goblins haven't the exact detail of everything, but it seems three students and one teacher have already been killed."

This news saddened Dumbledore's heart. Britain had already suffered too many losses during Voldemort's reign of terror. Even now years after, the recovery was far from complete. Close to one hundred and forty thousand wizards and witches lived today in the British Isles. Each of those lives, no matter how perverted by the Dark, was precious and had to be brought back into the Light.

"Who are the victims?" With luck, no Light families would be in mourning tonight and only Obliviations of Muggle-borns parents would be necessary...but the really important issue was the potential Chosen Ones and the future leaders of the new generation. Losing them would require him to change considerably his plans.

"Thomson Carrow of the Noble and Ancient House of Carrow was the first to die. Lewis Wilkes of the Ancient House of Wilkes and Jared Miller of the Ancient House of Miller came next. Professor Kaitlyn Reed of Defence Against the Dark Arts had been murdered a few minutes before the last two."

These names were completely unexpected. Dumbledore could not help but widen his eyes, though his mastery of Occlumency and Legilimency helped him to maintain an assured stance. The Chief Warlock had expected Muggle-borns to be the victims, not the sons of notorious Death Eater families!

As for Professor Reed, this was clearly Tom's Curse acting once again.

A careful examination of the Dark faction's group allowed him to know this information was coming like a cold shower for Lucius Malfoy and his supporters. Lord Miller in particular was losing his nerves and launching strident accusations.

More interesting were the goblins. Dumbledore had heard that the prestige of holding certain vaults was a question of life and death for certain goblins, but in his long life he had never been a witness to these bloody succession questions. Now the Supreme Mugwump had the confirmation under his very eyes, as the crowd of goblins surrounded one of their own and plunged their axes and spears into their body. It was a barbaric spectacle with a shower of blood and guts.

Unless he was very much mistaken, the very dead goblin was the Accountant for the Wilkes vaults. Lewis Wilkes had been a Slytherin seventh-year and the last of his line, due to take the seat of his House next summer in the Wizengamot. According to Severus the young man had already self-proclaimed himself 'Lord Wilkes' in the Den of Snakes. It appeared it had been a very premature idea. House Wilkes was now extinct and the goblins were beginning to murder each other.

The sad part was that there was going to be a similar bloodless fight at the Wizengamot when it came to dividing the Wilkes titles, possessions and money. Montrose, Mulciber, Lament and Nott were all cousins to diverse degrees of the Wilkes. They were all going to want their part of the treasure, this honourless band of vultures.

"Anything more?" demanded the Headmaster, calculating inside his head the probability of raising a new Light House in place of the now destroyed House Wilkes.

"No." Sturgis Podmore grimaced and showed an uncomfortable posture. "The goblin in charge is not one of our greatest admirers. Grimjaw I believe he is called."

The name of the goblin evoked an echo in Dumbledore's memories though he was unable to say the exact circumstances he had heard it before. In the last decades, he had been forced to speak and contact hundreds of the Gringotts branch members and their unpronounceable names gave him a headache. He would have to review the dozen of files he kept on the Gringotts bankers in order to remember the rank of this 'Grimjaw'.

"Regrettable." And Dumbledore was sincere. The Goblin nation had just won one or two more restrictions on their activities. If the goblins proved too stubborn for their own good, they had better not be surprised when the punishments were voted.

In two hours thirty-two minutes and twenty seconds, the wards would be back under his control. Albus Dumbledore swore that whoever had participated in this disaster, by Merlin he was going to teach them a lesson they would never forget. And then...

New screams mounted from the area where the goblin warriors were massed.

"Another student has just died," informed him unnecessarily Podmore.

* * *

 **11 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

If anyone asked her in the next decade whether buying a specimen of super-sized bat for seven hundred Galleons and bribing one Ravenclaw Prefect for one hundred more gold coins was a good idea, Alexandra would answer without hesitation with a firm 'yes'.

The name of the bat species was the 'Queen of Amazonia free-tailed bat'. _Chaerephon gigantica_ if one wanted to use its noble name.

Renowned for its size, the massive flying mammal was three times the size of her snow owl Atalanta. It was totally blind, relying only on its sonar for locating its prey. And it was hunting quasi-exclusively the snakes in the environment of the Southern American forests where it lived, crippling their eyes and the rest of their head with its powerful claws.

All these qualities, Alexandra had concluded, made it the perfect opponent to blind the King of Snakes.

And fortunately, she had been right. Because the animal she had called Tisiphone was the only thing allowing her to stay alive right now.

"Viscera ruptura!"

The violet-black curse missed her by several inches but it had come close. Too close. Alexandra sent a quick Fulgur Magna in retaliation but the junior Death Eater hid behind a pillar.

The combat against the King of Snakes, which had begun optimally with the bat clawing out the eyes of the Basilisk, was now turning to a far darker outcome. Alexandra had been forced to let Tisiphone and the Basilisk resolve their quarrel of dominant super-predators alone. The Heir of Slytherin had sent two other Junior Death Eaters with his creature...which had left Alexandra somewhat baffled as to how many of the castle's pure-bloods had been recruited in this not-so-little conspiracy.

Seriously, counting the three she had killed and the one who had fled, they were right now reaching the number of six. How the Head of the House Slytherin and the rest of the teaching staff had not noticed that many potential killers inside Hogwarts' walls was beyond her.

"Sanguis glaciare!"

A white-red beam struck the top of the nearby pillar, too close for comfort.

"Viscera ruptura!"

This was becoming bad. Her two enemies were coordinated, and unlike the other imbeciles she had fought before, they were not launching Unforgivables right and left. She was pretty sure she was facing two elder Slytherin boys...but she could be wrong. What was sure on the other hand was that their arsenal of lethal spells was several times bigger than her own. And they had very rapid and lethal Dark Arts incantations in it.

"Reducto!"

"Bombarda Maxima!"

"Sanguis glaciare!"

Various bombardment spells and cursed crossed the courtyard of the third floor which had become by default their battlefield. With the destruction they caused, Hogwarts was soon going to need a lot of repairs before reopening.

Alexandra felt the urge to scream a few insults at her opponents but it wasn't going to solve anything. Unlike Carrow, these followers knew not to squander their advantages. The green-eyed witch had never realised how much the Slytherins were bound with the laws existing on different types of magic but now she did. In a fashion, the Gryffindors were really mad to taunt them with pranks and provocations. It was like grabbing the tail of an irritated animal and expecting it not to react with venom and fangs!

Speaking about the animal, Alexandra was forced to jump over the balustrade onto the moving stairs as the Basilisk shattered the place where she had just taken position. The beast was now completely mad without its eyes. Tisiphone constantly clawing its head was likely amplifying these bouts of madness.

By the dark soul of Sauron this snake was ugly! Over sixty feet of grey-green scales, an ugly head –which had not been improved by the bat wounds – a barbed tail and the incredibly long fangs. More problematic, it was impossible to kill. Alexandra had tried all the methods she knew. Throwing spells. Throwing sharp objects. Collapsing the pillars and the ceiling over its head. The Harpoon Charm, a complicated piece of magic she had considered her plan of recourse several days ago. Making sure the junior Death Eaters most dangerous curses were redirected against the reptile.

Nothing worked. The Basilisk resistance was simply unnatural.

Only the sword Glamdring seemed to be any use, her strikes with the sliver metal piercing the hard scales and drawing blood from the monster. The problem was that her attacks weren't touching anything vital. Either she lacked the strength sufficient to do it, or there was no such weakness in the Basilisk. Alexandra freely acknowledged she sucked on the subject of magical snakes' anatomy...by the way who knew the Basilisk's blood was a powerful acid?

Occasion to strike a fatal blow to the head of the Basilisk were alas few and far between. Assuming of course the head was a weak point of the King of the Snakes. And the opportunities became null when one took into account the endless barrage of the Death Eaters.

"Confringo!"

The high-level Blasting Curses were beginning to be quite tiresome when one was on the receiving end. More proof Alexandra was facing at least OWL-level students...and an incentive to finish this battle fast. The two junior Death Eaters had begun this round of hostilities well-rested. Not her.

"For Elendil!" The Potter Heiress screamed, channeling a side of her persona she would refuse to admit the existence in public...too many similarities with the dim-witted Lions.

Using the new move of the Basilisk as an improvised shield, Alexandra raced up the stairs and slammed Glamdring in the lower part of the monster's maw. Struck from below, the Chamber of Secrets' monster emitted an incredulous sounding hiss as the silver-sword went right to the hilt in its flesh, ravaging its vulnerable parts and hopefully touching the vital skull. Alexandra jumped away as the flow of oily blood poured from the massive wound, and just in time. The gigantic snake convulsed in agony and its tail went away impossibly fast.

Too fast.

For the second time in less than an hour, Alexandra was sent spinning. The meeting with the ground was as unpleasant as ever, but this time with victory surging in her heart the pain wasn't unbearable. The Basilisk hissed and shrieked in untold suffering, before slamming into what had been an ornamental fountain yesterday. Like the troll over a year ago, the rumble was so loud and powerful Alexandra was sure every dead and alive being inside Hogwarts had heard it.

"Yes..."

"NO!"

Alexandra stood up impossibly fast with what strength was left of forces in her legs. Her flight had sent her directly before one of the two Death Eaters. Her saving grace...there was no saving grace.

They were both at each other wand's point. There wasn't going to be any time to evade.

"Glacies-"

"Sanguis-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The livid green light announcing the Killing Curse arrived without warning and struck the Death Eater straight in the middle of his back. It was so rapid Alexandra was sure the pure-blood had not even the opportunity for the words to arrive to his brain.

At first Alexandra thought it was his acolyte who had completely missed his target, but the other silver mask was crawling behind a ruined statue.

No, the responsible for this clean murder was in front of her, wearing a dark grey cloak decorated with a flamboyant red symbol she had never seen before: two black curved swords crossed on a red field accompanied by what looked to be black tears.

Raising her wand in precaution, Alexandra's mind clicked and she realised this face had figured prominently when she had searched photos of her family in the archives. The man had grown older with the years yes, but he was still recognisable.

"Peter Pettigrew."

The last member of the Marauders emitted a quick nod, before transforming into a rat and disappearing into a corridor with an impressive agility. Huh. At no moment had it been mentioned the man was a Animagus. In fact, the former friend of her father was a wizard described as 'low-average level' in the OWLS and NEWTS records.

 _At least I know why Scabbers reappeared. It wasn't Scabbers. Scabbers was eaten by Crookshanks. It was Peter Pettigrew all along_. _And that way he gained access to the Gryffindor Common Room_.

Truly Hogwarts was a monumental disaster in term of security.

The black-haired witch turned to settle the accounts with her last enemy, but there was no one behind the ruined pillars and the mutilated statues.

"Only the Heir of Slytherin is left. OOOFF!"

Tisiphone had just chosen this moment to pose herself upon Alexandra's left shoulder, and the weight of the great bat was significantly heavier than Atalanta. Alexandra felt only gratitude for her new animal companion...until the bat decided to lick the blood on her clothes.

 _Yuck_.

A stampede nearby interrupted her disgusted considerations. This time it wasn't the Death Eaters coming back for a new round. A large group of Lions had decided to rush in the melee. They however stopped at the entry of the devastated courtyard when they saw the battle was over.

"Potter," For the first time in two years, the Potter Heiress saw the Boy-Who-Lived blanching in fear. "What have you done?"


	40. The Heir, the Herald and the Monster

**Author's note** : The end of the year is near and my birthday comes tomorrow, so this chapter is coming today instead of early January. MasterQwertster betaed this chapter, don't hesitate to thank her.

Fair warning, this chapter is not light and has a lot of violence in it. With it, the great arc of the Chamber of Secrets finds its conclusion. According to my notes, there should be between two and three chapters before we finish second year.

 **Chapter 40**

 **The Heir, the Herald and the Monster**

 **Battle for the Chamber of Secrets Part II**

 **11 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

The day had started very badly for Neville Longbottom and the rest of Gryffindor House. What should have been a normal Sunday - well a Sunday where they weren't authorised to do anything outside of their Common Room and the library given the new regulations – had rapidly unfolded into disaster.

Ginny - Ron's little sister - had been missing at breakfast and when Neville, Leo and Ron had informed the Twins of this absence, the tension had commenced to rise. The youngest of the Weasley family was not in the Gryffindor tower, she wasn't in the library – not that they had expected to find her anywhere – and George had gone back to the dormitories to use the Marauder's Map, the name of his little sister had not shown anywhere.

The Gryffindors had been sufficiently alarmed to alert the Professors but on their way to the teacher's lounge they had noticed the horrid message painted in red on the walls.

 **HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER**

Hearing the noise of footsteps, the new Marauders had hidden themselves in a broom closet and heard Professor McGonagall discover the message.

They had listened to the powerful Sonorus commanding all the students to go back to their Common Rooms. And they had obeyed, not because they had suddenly become fond of the rules but because they needed help.

Their adventure in the Forbidden Forest under Hagrid's advice had let them guess the monster of the Chamber was a Basilisk, the redoubtable and monstrous King of Serpents. Only this beast was capable to plunge a colony of Acromantulas in unbridled fear.

The big problem they hadn't been able to solve was the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets until yesterday, when Leo had remarked that since a girl had died fifty years ago, maybe she was still haunting the castle. Hogwarts was one of the most magical sites in Britain, and the possibility was high of an innocent leaving an imprint behind after her death. There was only one candidate meeting these criteria: Moaning Myrtle, a sad ghost haunting the outdated toilets of the second-floor...which by a curious coincidence were terribly close to the sites of several attacks.

This had to be the entrance of the Chamber, and with Neville himself being a Parselmouth, they had the means to enter the Chamber and stop the Heir. Parselmouth or not, this evil wizard was not going to gloat when he confronted the wrath of House Gryffindor! Rapidly they had constituted a rescue force. Leo, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Fred, George, Percy and he were going to fight the Heir of Slytherin.

There had been more volunteers of course, but the students of Gryffindor House had only a very limited supply of magical glasses to counter the death glare of the monster. Eight Gryffindors would have to do against the Heir of Slytherin and his monstrous Basilisk.

They had only reached the sixth floor when they had been attacked by Slytherins disguised as Death Eaters. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague had thought it was a fun time to prove that the time of pure-blood supremacy was at hand. At eight against two however, defeating them had been child's play. Evidently these idiots had not thought a large group of students was going to stand against them. The two fourth-years Snakes had been Stunned and bound with conjured ropes, then left in an abandoned classroom. When they came back from the Chamber, Neville would have the great pleasure of presenting them to Professor Dumbledore and being a witness at their expulsion trial. Let them try the Imperius defence like their parents! Hogwarts was not under Ministry jurisdiction and Dumbledore was not one of the easily corruptible politicians the Dark had in their pocket.

Nonetheless it had been worrying. They had expected to fight the Heir and his Monster when they went to save Ginny, but now it seemed some Slytherins were involved in these evil plans. The Heir of House Longbottom had been about to call an improvised council to change their plans a bit when terrible sounds of battle and atrocious hisses had resonated in the corridors. Thanks to the Twins whose knowledge of the castle was second-to-none, finding the place where all this chaos was happening was child's play.

The Flowers and Fountain's courtyard on the third floor was a place where Lavender and Parvati enjoyed meeting their fellow gossipers. Neville and certainly all the other Gryffindors crossed it at least twice per week.

What they saw with their astounded eyes at their arrival was not a courtyard but a ruin. The statues, the fountain, the flower structures, the archway...everything had been ravaged and destroyed. It was like a war had been fought and lost here.

But the true horror was lying at the centre of this battlefield. It was long, maybe fifty feet of dark green scales. A monstrous head he had no doubt they were going to have nightmares of for the rest of the month. Spines going all over the back, a barbed tail and a maw full of awfully big fangs.

The Basilisks were the very stuff of horror stories in the world witches and wizards lived in. Now seeing one with his own eyes, the Heir of House Longbottom knew why and shivered. Equipped with anti-petrifaction glasses or not, he was not that sure they would have won against this Monster. Eight allies was a fine number, but the Basilisk was really massive; an army might not have been enough to kill it.

But the girl standing in front of them had apparently done it, alone and unsupported. And a lifeless Slytherin disguised in Death Eater robes was immobile next to her.

"Potter. What have you done?" Neville could not stop his voice from shaking a bit. Had the Ravenclaw become as treacherous and insane as her father?

Alexandra Potter turned her head to fix their rescue force with a stare and it was then Neville realised the lamentable state of the Potter Heiress. Her hair was completely dishevelled and full of debris and rubble. The visage of the Ravenclaw was extremely dirty too, dust, tears and other fluids having left their trace. The school robe she was wearing was torn apart, soiled beyond salvage and pierced in dozens of places. Under this, her strange accoutrement - which had to be Muggle by the looks of it - was ravaged and revealed many small wounds. And all of this was covered in a red-black liquid that was certainly blood.

That and the gigantic bat that was perched on her shoulder was not exactly projecting a better atmosphere.

The Exiled Queen feigned to think about the question a few seconds before opening her mouth to answer.

"What these incompetent of teachers of ours should have done long ago?"

Neville felt the disapproval spread from Percy like a tempest. The Twins on the other hand looked rather amused by someone sharing their disdain for the adults.

"You killed him, didn't you?" asked the oldest Weasley, pointing his wand towards the boy in Death Eater robes.

"As a matter of fact I didn't." The tone used by Alexandra Potter was not showing any satisfaction, but there was no remorse in it either.

"Liar!" shouted Ron.

"I don't lie, Ronald Weasley. This Death Eater wasn't killed by my hand."

It was rather strange. The black-haired second-year was the only survivor in the middle of the ruins so this made her the only potential murderer. Unless someone had managed to escape before their arrival?

"He's not a Death Eater, he's just a Slytherin disguised in the robes of his parents." corrected Leo. "And what do you mean 'this Death Eater'?"

"I met four others of his ilk before the Basilisk. One of them escaped but I caught the other three."

And the tone she used to say 'caught' left little doubt about the fate of said Snakes. Neville felt sick. Three wizards dead, just like this. The day before they had all been eating together in the Great Hall and now they were killing themselves. In the name of Merlin, what sort of madness was happening in Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses?

"Are you mad? You killed students!"

"I killed Death Eaters." corrected the black-haired girl. There was no regret in her voice.

"You're completely mad, Potter," whispered Leo.

"Am I? If these students wear Death Eater clothes, are marked like Death Eaters and throw Unforgivables and Dark Curses like there is no tomorrow, then I will treat them like the murderous scum they are."

And to give weight to her words, the Ravenclaw witch magically unrolled the sleeves of the dead Slytherin. Effectively, one of his arms had a sort of weird Dark Mark tattooed on it. It looked a bit incomplete, but the skull and the snake were eminently recognisable.

"The Wizengamot will never agree with you." Whispered Seamus, but his voice lacked confidence. For that matter, Neville wasn't feeling too well either. They had not thought to check Warrington or Montague for the Dark Mark. Why would they have? Voldemort was still a wraith according to Professor Dumbledore and had certainly returned to Albania. His most dangerous supporters were imprisoned at Azkaban or 'regretting' their past mistakes. There was no one to brand them with the Dark Mark or one of the early versions used decades ago.

"Funny fact, they don't need to agree with my actions. Some of the anti-Death Eater laws introduced by the DMLE Director of the last war have never been repealed. In addition, they have shot Unforgivables at me. I can plead legitimate defence, they attacked me with lethal force and all their wands will confirm it."

Neville felt suddenly ill at these words. Technically and practically, the Ravenclaw girl was right. There were loopholes authorising the recourse of lethal force against Death Eaters, and Potter as part of the House of the Wise must have studied them.

The irony was so painful it wasn't funny anymore. The Longbottom heir was quite sure nobody in the Wizengamot had expected the daughter of a Death Eater to use these edicts for her own advantage.

While they were debating, Fred Weasley –or was it George? - closed the distance and removed the silver mask with a quick Attraction Charm. The visage of an older black-haired Slytherin with pale skin was revealed.

"I recognise him, he's in my year." affirmed Percy. "His name is Oliver Nairne."

"Third in line for the lordship of the Ancient House of Nairne." declared Potter with a grimace. "He has a cousin or two at Azkaban and his father died for Voldemort at the end of the war."

"You're going to be in trouble." Remarked George –or was it Fred?

"I didn't kill this one." The flashing green eyes of the Potter Heiress were not exactly warming and friendly. "And even if I did, he tried to kill me so it's not like he's an innocent lamb. When he got the idea that the murder of Muggle-borns and their descendants was acceptable, he should have figured someone was going to strike back."

Ron looked lost at that remark, but Leo and Neville knew what she was talking about. James Potter may have been a spy of the Death Eaters, but Alexandra's mother was a Muggle-born. From the evidence they had, the green-eyed girl had just decided where her allegiances laid.

 _Maybe there's still a chance for House Potter to be brought back into the Light after all_.

"Fine. We haven't the time for all this debate."

"Indeed brother of mine." said Fred.

"Time is kicking and we must go to the Chamber."

"Rescuing Ginny is our priority."

"You're coming with us?" ended both mouths in the coordinated voice that made them so funny and irritating.

"One second."

The black-haired Ravenclaw turned back and marched to the Basilisk...before drawing from its lower jaw a bloody sword.

 _So that's how she slew the Monster of Slytherin_.

There was however a point he didn't understand. Most low-level enchanted weapons were useless against the XXXXX-class creatures. And the Basilisk was perhaps one of the most dangerous in this category.

"By my magic and my sword, this Basilisk has been slain. In the name of House Potter, I, Alexandra Victoria Potter, claim the corpse of this Basilisk and all the spoils going with it. By the Powers of blood, magic and war, so mote it be. Is there anyone who wants to challenge my claim?"

The flow of magic which suddenly erupted made Neville shiver and he wasn't the only one. The ancient Claim of Conquest was older than memory and in general was never used by the wizards and witches of today. It was too dangerous. Sure it made your claim of slaying a magical beast near unassailable...but this was an Old Way. A Dark Way. Something pushing his own magic to the fore and burning him to answer the ancient words...he pushed it back inside him. He didn't want the Dark Lady of Ravenclaw to turn her weapons against him.

The magic had a powerful effect, this remained incontestable. All the blood covering the blade of Potter was vaporised into a thin red mist, revealing the shining silver underneath.

"Fragarach!" shouted Percy. "Potter throw it away! It's a cursed blade!"

But the girl just...laughed?

"I am very curious how you found my sword's name when I wasn't able to." Green eyes the very colour of the Killing Curse narrowed before fixing another point like it had no great importance. "I doubt my sword is cursed. I have used it so much that if a curse was on it, it must be one making me live through pretty interesting situations!"

"The sword is known by another name."

"Which is?"

"Clarent." murmured the eldest Weasley studying at Hogwarts. "It's the sword-"

"-Which killed Arthur." finished Leo.

"Fascinating." replied the Potter Heiress with a voice and an expression telling them she could really care less about holding a Dark and very cursed centuries-old blade. "But since it is pretty much the most powerful weapon I have at my disposal, I think I am going to hold on to it until the drawbacks outweigh its advantages."

"You will regret it." said Seamus, unknowingly echoing Neville when they had clashed with the Ravenclaw during the winter months.

"No, I won't." The smile baring the teeth of Alexandra Potter was a frightening thing. "Shall we go? The Heir of Slytherin awaits..."

* * *

 **11 April 1993, Chamber of Secrets**

For what seemed to be the twentieth time today, Alexandra was glad she wore completely ruined clothes.

When Neville and the other Gryffindors had told her they knew where the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets was, she had imagined an archway similar to Diagon Alley but with a lot of snake decorations, perhaps gem stones, silver and finely styled architecture. Salazar Slytherin –at least according what little literature had survived to the 90s – was not a modest wizard. His greatest work should have included the sculptures, the wards and the decoration appropriate.

Throwing yourself into a pipe of grey stone was about the complete opposite of her vision. Worse, it was covered in slime. The more she thought about it, the more Alexandra was convinced the Lions had found one of the openings the Basilisk was using to launch its attack thorough the schools. Not the only one, there had been petrifactions too far from this section of the second floor and a giant snake was not the most discreet creature of the Wizarding World. It was frightening to say the least. A monstrous creature able to strike by three or four passages no one save the Heir had known about before this year. An uncountable number of breaches in Hogwarts defences no one in the staff had any idea they existed.

After this realisation, the assurance that this castle was the safest place in Magical Britain was kind of sickening. If she survived this little adventure without being forced to escape as a fugitive, Alexandra knew she and the rest of the Exiled would have to create a lot of contingencies for invasions and other terror attacks. The worst scenarios imaginable tended to be unleashed in Hogwarts corridors with a depressing regularity. Examining the vast underground cavern they had arrived in, the Potter Heiress winced. Better to think about Hogwarts and Dumbledore's failures than the revelation of her sword's name.

Fragarach. The Answerer, able to force whoever had its metal pressed upon his or her throat the pure and unaltered truth, a Veritaserum in metal form. In the legends it had been forged by the Gods and become the sword of Manannan mac Lir and later Lugh Lamfada. It was renamed Clarent on the eve of the terrible Battle of Camlann by Morgana La Fay. In the aftermath, the blade received the infamous title of Slayer of Kings. Throwing a glance around her to be sure none of the Gryffindors were looking, the black-haired witch sent a disturbed look at Glamdring – no at Fragarach. This weapon had cut apart tens of thousands enemies in its long and bloody history. Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were just footnotes in an endless series of wars.

 _And I found it. In a goblin fortress where weapons were covered in dust and rust. How long was it there_?

Alexandra had never found a description of it in the library. Not that she had tried that much considering the unlikely possibility of her sword to be one of the most infamous artefacts in Britain's history – both magical and non-magical. After all, the other priceless weapon which had disappeared the same day as Fragarach had never been found again. And unlike Clarent, everyone had heard of its name.

Excalibur.

No, the questions going with the sword location could wait for another day. For now, the Heir of Slytherin was still at large. Its Basilisk was dead, but whoever had taken the appearance of Ginny Weasley could still do a lot of damage. The teachers had all been petrified with a baffling facility – Flitwick, Snape and their Junior assistants had been the only ones able to put up a fight. The castle was in partial lock-down and the Floo didn't function.

At least the Claim of Conquest had allowed her to replenish a good part of her magical core. Since Samhain and the mark the Morrigan had left on her, Alexandra had been curious whether or not she could take profit from this. Champions of the Old Powers gained several boons from their power and the Morrigan was a divinity of death. Claiming the Basilisk for herself would make sure neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry tried to rob her. And she would gain more energy to throw spells around, power they really needed if the Heir of Slytherin was as dangerous as she feared.

She concentrated again on her surroundings. Apart from a gigantic amount of dead snake's skin, there was no human presence in this underground place. It didn't feel right. With the lake being so close, creating such a place must have required colossal Space-Expansion Charms, to say nothing of Anti-Apparition Wards and protections against House Elves. Yes, the last one had been verified by the Weasley Twins.

"How could someone build something like this in secret?"

"Parseltongue-keyed wards and a customised Charm combining Space-Expansion and adaptation to Hogwarts ward stone?"

The proposition from Fred Weasley – or was it George? – left more than one member of their group with the mouth wide open. In theory, casting these Charms and wards was possible for a gifted fifth-year. In theory. Well, except the Parseltongue wards. One had to speak the language of snakes to use them.

But in theory, casting these spells one after another was not difficult. But when the time came to combine them...'difficult' was the understatement of the millennia. If the rumours were true, Salazar Slytherin had built this part of the castle unaided by his fellow Founders. How powerful was the man who had given his name to the House of Snakes? Dumbledore was just an old man with delusions of grandeur by comparison...

They discovered other pipes in their exploration of the cavern. One point for the fact they had just used one of the Basilisk's exits rather than the real opening Salazar Slytherin had built for himself. The issue with this interpretation was the lack of other passageways: to leave this cavern you had to take the pipes or go forwards. Perhaps Salazar Slytherin loved to descend in the slime...or had several enchantments failed in the last centuries and deteriorated the pipes? Unfortunately, there was no way to know. The only witness of the past was the Basilisk...and she had just killed it.

After several minutes of exploration the eight Gryffindors and the Ravenclaw took position in front of what had to be the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets: a heavy circle of metal decorated with dozens of snakes. It looked so heavy Alexandra was sure none of her overpowered Bombarda would have been able to pulverise this thing. And destroying the walls next to it sounded like a very bad idea when the green-eyed witch didn't know what the stone foundations were supporting.

A Parseltongue command from Neville Longbottom and a snake of metal detached itself from the rest of the structure, unlocking one by one the snake-shaped mechanisms protecting the Chamber from all intrusion.

"What was the password?"

"Huh...I just said 'Open'..."

The battering opened in an atrocious thundering, confirming no one had oiled these things for centuries and pretty much ruining the effect of surprise. In compete silence the wizards and the witch advanced to discover one of the greatest rumoured legends of Hogwarts.

Except it wasn't a legend, was it? If the previous cavern had been huge, the Chamber of Secrets defied imagination. It was easily ten times bigger and massive snake statues of cobras, anacondas, basilisk and vipers of all species had been magically sculpted to decorate the sides of the central stone aisle.

At the other end of their current position was an over-dimensioned statue of Salazar Slytherin itself. By the dark presence of Morgoth, Slytherin must have had an ego the size of a mountain to lose his time building a sculpture of himself. Especially as he and his descendants were the only people who had seen it in uncountable centuries.

The hour was not one for jokes sadly. Right under their feet someone had deliberately traced a pentacle of blood for a very Dark ritual. The runes, the blood, the sacrificial victim...everything had been respected. And the torn throat of the victim added to the massive amount of blood reddening the white stones dashed their hopes.

Worse, they knew the dead woman.

"Professor Kaitlyn Reed..." whispered the eldest of the Weasley boys. "She is..."

"Dead."

This was brutal but there wasn't any way a witch or a wizard could suffer with the kind of wounds the Junior Professor of DADA had received. The brown hair of the witch had been partially burned. Deep cuts had been made to her arms and legs. Her clothes were in tatters like someone had...no, she wasn't going to think about this. The visage of Lockhart's most engaged fan-girl was forever stopped in a grimace of agony, her cold eyes fixing the dead ceiling.

Whoever had made the blood ritual was a certified monster; that was a certainty. The culprits had not just wanted her blood. They had wanted to make the poor witch suffer before her life ended.

"Don't enter the circle," commanded one of the Twins in an injunction where no humour was present. "We don't know what sort of ritual it was supposed to be..."

For an instant Alexandra thought Seamus Finnigan or Ron Weasley were going to disobey but reason won in their heads. Thank the Powers of Magic for that small favour. They had enough problems like that; disrupting a ritual circle could be outright disastrous and go downhill from there.

"She's not the only one dead here," said darkly the other Weasley twin, lighting with his wand the shallow man-made river on the right side of the Chamber. "Alexandra could you give me a hand?"

"Sure."

Drawing back her wand in her holster, Alexandra helped the Gryffindor dragging from the water another corpse. Absent some high-level spells, there wasn't any non-magical way to breathe for so long underwater. To her surprise, this was one of their fellow Slytherin second-years.

"This is...Byron Vaisey?"

The face of the pure-blood was showing an astonished expression, not the horrified one of the Professor.

"Looks like he was drowned," said soberly the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Mate, this isn't funny at all!" roared Ronald Weasley. "What is happening here? We came here to save Ginny..."

A cold and mocking applause interrupted what the red-haired boy had been about to say. Not that it was a great loss compared to the fact three figures who had just revealed themselves at the base of the gigantic head statue.

Alexandra would dearly have loved for her allies of circumstance to advance carefully – just in case the persons waiting for them next to the statue had prepared a thousand traps – but alas it was not to be. Seamus Finnigan rushed towards them, followed by Ron Weasley, Leo Black, Dean Thomas and then it was like a domino effect with the other Lions following suit. Sitting the lifeless body of Vaisey on the cold stones with the second Weasley twin, Alexandra drew her wand again and marched calmly, trying to see what sort of nasty surprises the Heir had prepared for them. The raven-haired witch didn't see anything...which was all the more suspicious. With the first attack on Halloween, who knew what sort of wards and creatures could wait in a dark corner?

It took her half a minute to take her place in the line facing the three Slytherins. Because they were proudly showing the badge of the Viper's Den, despite two of them having never attended one of the Sortings or the Ending Feasts. The first was a black-haired teenager. He was old and tall enough to be at least a fifth or sixth year. He was standing completely immobile with determination and confidence...and his eyes were so cold, so dark it was honestly perturbing. Somehow, there was something familiar in his traits, like she had seen it before. But where?

The second Slytherin was a girl who looked to be an older first-year or a young second-year. Her perfect face could have seriously challenged Daphne Greengrass in the 'beautiful and arrogant' class. Her hairs were a dark blonde, her eyes were a brilliant purple and her skin was a pale colour. In a few years, this girl could be a top-model without any effort.

But if two of the three were more or less unknown parties, it was not the case of the third: William Rosier. House Rosier had shed lakes of blood in the service of Voldemort. Their last descendant had clearly chosen to continue on their murderous path. The last scion of the Rosier family was harbouring the familiar Slytherin smirk, as if there was something to be proud of when one caught you near an outlawed blood ritual.

"Tom...Tom Riddle?"

Neville's outburst was all she needed to connect the pieces and remember why this visage had seemed familiar. He was a model student of the World War II-era who had won several national awards and put an end to the attacks of 1945.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin Prefect and apparently liar extraordinaire.

A Prefect of the 1940s had no business being here in the Chamber of Secrets. And when one added that someone had accused Rubeus Hagrid the last time of being the Heir of Slytherin, there was only one logical conclusion.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was behind the attacks of this year, the petrifactions, the rise of distrust and the antagonism between House Slytherin and the rest of the school.

He had released the Basilisk while letting the blame fall on Longbottom, the sole Parselmouth remaining at the school.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin.

"Why are you here?"

Well at least Dean Thomas was clueless. For a second, she wondered how the Lions would have found the Chamber of Secrets if they did not have a Parseltongue-speaking wizard in their ranks.

"He's the Heir of Slytherin."

The fifteen-year old clapped his hands. It was a frigid, controlled move.

"Very good, Alexandra Potter. I see the Ravenclaw reputation for intelligence is not usurped." The gaze of the Prefect who should not be here was somewhat appreciative. There was nothing good in the expression he showed to Thomas, though. "Neither is the Gryffindor reputation to rush headlong into danger..."

"Hey!"

"Slimy snake!"

"Be careful with your next words, Heir." The words of the Boy-Who-Lived were not hiding well the fury behind them.

"Where is Ginny?" shouted Ronald Weasley. "Where is our sister?"

"Right here, naturally."

The boys running their eyes all over the Chamber of Secrets in the search of the lost Gryffindor girl was quite comical, the Ravenclaw witch had to concede. But there was no one else in the vast secret room.

Alexandra turned her head towards the blonde girl. She was the only possible candidate if what Riddle said could be trusted at all. But it made no sense. Ginny Weasley had evidently been prisoner while someone else was impersonating her during the attacks. Why would the Lion girl attack her own housemates? There was no motive; the Weasley were famous –or infamous depending the society class you grew up with – for supporting Muggle and the wizards and witches born from non-magical families. They had clearly the impersonator in front of them and no trace of Ginny...unless...

The vivid scene of the blood ritual behind them and the dead eyes of Professor Reed flashed in her mind. Was it possible? Alexandra knew next to nothing on sacrificial dark rituals. One for resurrecting Riddle from the dead. One to transform...

"Riddle," For the first time of the day, the Ravenclaw didn't feel angered, furious or nauseated. She was genuinely scared. "What have you done?"

"I knew you would understand." The smirk from the teenager was one of triumph. "Let me present you Scylla Persephone Yaxley." The girl made a slight bow as per the Wizengamot custom when a presentation occurred. "Formerly known as Ginevra Molly Weasley."

The reaction of the Gryffindors came in the next seconds, as virulent as the Slytherin Prefect had no doubt expected.

"This is ridiculous!"

"You're lying!"

"What game are you playing, Tom Riddle?"

"How did Ginny get like this?" The question had come from Percival. The eldest Weasley was completely and utterly horrified.

"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle in a tone hiding barely how pleased he was with himself. "It is quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley has been replaced by my dear Scylla is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" Seamus was clearly perplexed.

"My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books." Riddle's eyes glinted in a mischievous manner. "How she wasn't able to make the famous, the great, the King of pranksters Neville Longbottom notice her…"

All the time he spoke, Alexandra saw Riddle's eyes never left Neville's forehead. There was an almost hungry look in them. This was a look smelling of trouble and crazy and not of the good kind.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," conceded the ancient Hogwarts student. "But I was patient. I wrote back, I was sympathetic, I taught her the spells she needed to excel in class. Ginny simply loved me. She was the first of her class, had her own little court of admirers though her big brothers had never the time for her."

The Weasleys trembled or had their faces redden in shame. Riddle laughed, and it was really a sinister and frightening noise. For a moment, the twelve-ear old witch thought about cursing him here and now but the rest of the Gryffindors were looking...enraptured by the story.

"If I say it myself, Neville, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. A little Lady who had her own fears and an impressive accumulated anger. A Gryffindor witch of a Light family unwilling to tolerate the mediocrity and the poverty she was forced into by her parents. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her, to train the girl who was becoming my Herald …"

"I don't understand." said quietly the Black Heir.

"Haven't you guessed yet, Leo Black?" The Heir of Slytherin was visibly enjoying explaining his tortuous plan in the tiniest details. "Scylla Yaxley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the serpent of Slytherin on the Mudbloods, the Blood-traitors and the Squib's cat. She organised the attack on the Quidditch Pitch and butchered a Thestral. She killed your Professor when the time came for me to take corporeal form again. She punished Byron when this little snake was willing to betray our cause and run back to the teachers. And every time she used the Arts I taught her, she took control and Ginny Weasley grew weaker."

"No." Neville was completely horrified and Alexandra didn't blame him. The act of someone controlling your body like a puppet sounded utterly monstrous in theory and the practise was certainly even more awful.

"Yes." The eyes of Riddle flashed red for a second or two and she was sure it was not her imagination. "Of course, neither Ginny nor Scylla knew what was happening to them at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries … far more interesting, they became … Dear Tom,' he recited, watching the Lions' horrified faces, 'I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me … there was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad … I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!'"

Alexandra looked at her opponents, trying to think about a plan to neutralise all of them rapidly. The problem was that she couldn't kill Scylla Yaxley; her knowledge of blood rituals was non-existent, but she didn't think she could forgive herself if there was a way to reverse this abominable fate. Riddle would have to be taken care of first, she concluded. He was the most dangerous opponent and Rosier was just a first-year.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary. But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. It was too late for her however. Scylla was stable and fully attuned thanks to the _Sang Royal_. Her heart sang with the darkness." A new smile as deranged as the others came to his lips. "And that's where you came in, Neville. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet …"

The Potter Heiress absolutely didn't like where it was going. Neville Longbottom, Golden Boy extraordinaire of Gryffindor, had had in his hands a Dark heirloom which should have made two-thirds of Hogwarts wards scream in alarm? Seriously what wrong with this school?

"And why did you want to meet me?" Neville's tone wasn't too pleased and she understood. It was unlikely the Slytherin teenager wanted to join the Boy-Who-Lived fan-club.

"Well, you see, Scylla told me all about you, Neville." It was frightening to hear how many of Gryffindor House's little secrets had been revealed to inimical parties. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you and meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust."

"Hagrid's my friend!" roared the Longbottom heir. The Potter Heiress thought Neville should better choose them if this was the final result. "And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but –"

A true Slytherin making a mistake of this magnitude? Really the Lions were of a naivety bordering complete stupidity. Apparently Riddle was sharing this point of view because he burst in laughter.

"It was my word against Hagrid's, Neville. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school Prefect, model student; on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise Thunderbird chickens in the Owlery, lighting bonfires to raise Firecrabs and hiding an Acromantula under his bed. But I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realise that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance … as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!"

The voice of Riddle was full of pride and on this point none of the students could miss how long he had awaited this moment of glory in front of a receptive public.

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did …"

Alexandra thought for herself it was extremely sad Dippet and the rest of the Professors had missed the complete psychopath currently in front of them. There was a place for persons like Riddle, and it was the mental asylum or the prison of Azkaban. The Valar knew this Slytherin deserved it.

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you." And the Dumbledore worship came back at the worst possible moment. Seriously, were the Lions aware the man had done nothing to stop the attacks?

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," said Riddle like it was no big deal. For all she knew, it might be the truth since he must have already accomplished his goal with the death of Moaning Myrtle. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it." Neville said triumphantly. "In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again.'

"Haven't I already told you that petrifying Mudbloods and Blood-traitors doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been – you."

The Weasley and the rest of the second-years stared at him in quite disbelief.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But the little idiot had miscalculated. I brought Scylla back in control and she told me everything about how you had Parseltongue abilities, how you would go to any length to solve the mystery particularly if more people were attacked..."

"So I talked to Scylla and my Herald wrote her own farewell on the wall. Then we came here to wait. We had originally planned to use you as the main ingredient for our little ritual but my Slytherins servants were taking too much time to come back and we used the poor Professor Reed as a result."

"Ginny?"

This time it was Scylla Yaxley who spoke in a melodious and cultured voice.

"My host struggled and cried but she was too weak to resist me. How boring. There isn't much life left in her: I have taken the full control of her magical core and her body."

"And with the last ritual I gained enough energy to let me leave its pages at last," finished Tom Riddle. "I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Neville Longbottom."

"Like what?"

"Well," said Riddle with a fake smile. "How is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

The red flash was back in his eyes and Alexandra had a sinking feeling. Lord Voldemort had always pretended to be the Heir of Slytherin. Tom Riddle was claiming to be the Heir of Slytherin. Two plus two...

"Why do you care how I escaped?" answered back arrogantly the Boy-Who-Lived. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort is my past, present and future, Neville Longbottom …"

Holding the wand which had certainly belonged to Professor Kaitlyn Reed from his pocket, the Slytherin Prefect began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words in flames:

 **TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name re-arranged themselves:

 **I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

An anagram. The name of the dreaded Dark Lord having brought the Magical government of Britain to its knees was just an anagram. Who would have believed it?

"You see?" The junior version of the Dark Lord whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins run the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Neville. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"LUMOS!" Alexandra screamed, closing her eyes and letting the bright of her overpowered Light Charm blind the Lions and the Snakes indifferently.

The raven-haired witch didn't try throwing a second spell at Riddle. This fifth-year had certainly forgotten more spells in his life than she had ever learned in two years. Drawing Fragarach from its position on her back, she sprinted towards the Heir of Slytherin.

"Avada-"

"For Professor Reed!"

The silver sword took the young Voldemort in the chest and stopped the Unforgivable right on his lips. The red-dark eyes opened comically like they were trying to recognise their end. It didn't matter. Alexandra pivoted on her left and punched Scylla Yaxley right in the jaw. The girl who had been Ginny Weasley was evidently not expecting physical means of contact and was thrown on the ground. A turn of forty-five degrees on the left and the Potter Heiress pointed her wand at William Rosier.

The effects of the Lumos were gone and the scion of the Dark line had had the time to put himself in a duel stance. When Alexandra met his eyes she saw only darkness and death.

To the death then.

"Crucio!"

"Glacies Secare!"

She had already moved out of the way when the first syllabus of the Unforgivable came out. Rosier didn't. If he hadn't been her enemy, she would have recommended him remedial duelling lessons with Flitwick to him. As it was, the lessons wouldn't do him any good. The overpowered ice-cutting incantation slammed directly into the Slytherin first-year and pierced the entire left side of his body. Alexandra was suddenly sprinkled in blood while the Cruciatus passed half a meter away from her and slammed into the hideous statue of Salazar Slytherin.

William Rosier, eleven years old, a boy who had proven himself a true successor to his Death Eater family, fell on his back and stopped moving. Good riddance.

Past the moment of astonishment the Lions at last moved. Fred, George and Percival rushed towards the girl who might or might not be their sister to ensure she was right. The five other Gryffindors on the other hand regarded her like she had suddenly transformed herself into a Basilisk minus the death glare.

"Potter! Stop this!"

"She's gone completely crazy!"

"Your help was very much appreciated Gryffindors." The green-eyed witch retorted after the last unhelpful comment of Ronald Weasley. How did the boy think they were supposed to defeat this young version of Voldemort? By sending him flowers?

Alexandra had enough. Screw it, this Wizarding World and its Light champions were completely useless. It took a Ravenclaw to make sure the job was done.

"Potter, what-"

"Purging what remains of the little Slytherin conspiracy, Longbottom. One dirty snake after the other."

Turning aside to look at the dying Heir of Slytherin, she watched Tom Marvolo Riddle on his knees trying to extract her sword.

"It's over, Riddle."

"Potter...you could have...served me."

"You?" Alexandra delivered a solid kick at a place no boy liked receiving a hit and was rewarded by a loud expression of pain. "Don't be ridiculous. I bow to no one and certainly not to Slytherin psychopaths with delusions of grandeur."

"I am the greatest wizard..."

"Oh, please. The greatest wizard of known times is Gandalf the Grey. Everyone knows that."

By the ignorance showed on his face, Riddle had never read Tolkien books. What a pity for a Muggle-raised wizard.

"I am a construct...your sword...will not kill me."

"Fragarach was coated minutes ago in Basilisk venom."

The sheer expression of horror on Tom's face was so stunning Alexandra would be unable to recount this moment later without giggling and lamenting at the fact she had not brought a camera. The self-proclaimed Heir spat blood and his arms trembled as the venom began its deadly work.

"That was for Hermione, Morag and all the people who had to suffer because of you, by the way." She told the defeated Heir of Slytherin, grabbing the handle of Fragarach and enlarging the massive injury she had given him before removing the enchanted blade from his soon-to-be-corpse.

A massive hiss was all she got in answer.

"Don't tire yourself." Alexandra said to the ancient Prefect and Head Boy. "Your Basilisk is dead."

"Who... said...I... had... only...one?" Tom Riddle managed to utter before completely collapsing and closing his eyes.

Something heavy moved, shaking the ground and troubling the flow of water present in the Chamber. Inch by inch, a space where the mouth of Salazar's statue had been located began to open. A strident snake hiss resonated.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

The Charm struck the statue like a bomb and pieces of stone flew everywhere...but it was too late. The hole had not been completely shut down and the monster was going to pass through.

"Bombarda!"

If they survived somewhat this day, the Heiress of House Potter swore she was seriously going to contemplate the murder of Ronald Weasley, idiot extraordinaire of Gryffindor. Apparently the red-haired wizard had thought imitating Alexandra was a good idea. With a broken wand. In the middle of an extremely perilous situation. With a fourth-year spell he had never mastered.

The red-white magic ray did not strike the statue of Salazar Slytherin or anywhere near it. Instead it lighted like one of the infamous lightsabers of Darth Vader in Star Wars and drilled a car-sized hole in the ceiling.

For a second or two even the Basilisk stopped hissing in shock and every wizard and witch watched the breach with hope the wards of the Slytherin Founder were going to cope with it. Sadly Salazar Slytherin had not thought about the monumental disasters the Golden Trio could unleash in their wake when he built the Chamber.

A torrent of water fell a few feet to Seamus' left and as an impressive cascade formed before their eyes, the fact the Chamber had been placed under the lake was more than verified. The Chamber was going to get a lot more humid than it already was.

"George, Fred, take your sister and flee!" Alexandra screamed, fixing her attention on the ground and cursing herself for having sent back Tisiphone to her cage. Stupid, stupid and stupid! Why had she been so stupid to assume the Heir had only one Basilisk? Why had she tolerated Weasley and not brought a Ravenclaw or two to stop him at the first stupidity?

They all ran towards the entrance, leaving the bodies of Rosier and Riddle there. Sure it was a major loss of evidence but the goblins knew when a House died. They would confirm their words...and they had first to survive.

"LONGBOTTOM! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

With water soaking their shoes there was really no time to spare but the Boy-Who-Lived had crouched near the ritual circle to grab the diary responsible for all these deaths. In other times, she would have congratulated the Lion for thinking of evidence but there wasn't any time! A shrieking hiss sounded behind her and Alexandra jumped to her right on sheer instinct, pulling the Boy-Who-Lived with her.

It was the only thing which saved them. A long tail full of terrible spines slammed at the place she had been situated the moment before. The stairs leading to the door exploded under the assault and the walls trembled, letting fall more rocks and stones on the sole exit.

More water poured into the Chamber of Secrets. Just wonderful. Looking around she saw Longbottom on his belly trying to regain his breath...and then impossibly a freaking red bird appeared from nowhere, perched itself on Neville's shoulder and the two vanished in a magical flame storm.

What in the name of the Valar?

Alexandra hadn't the time to investigate. The Basilisk charged again but this time she was ready, its huge shadow impossible to miss in the water filling the room. She put Fragarach in a horizontal stance before delivering an oblique attack with what little strength she had in her arms. One jump and a formidable hiss of pain later, she had the confirmation her strike had been successful. The lake was turning crimson of the Basilisk blood and the Monster was hurling its tail and the rest of its body in unnatural forms.

The King of Snakes was wounded and its threat had been diminished, for all the good it was going to do. The entrance of the Chamber had completely collapsed, making the need for a new exit prominent. But there was too much water and she doubted she had the time to explore the Chamber in detail. Already her knees were going to be under the current. And hadn't there been texts affirming the Basilisk was more redoubtable in an aquatic environment?

"Bombarda!" When in doubt, demolish something. The Basilisk might be tough, but by the hisses it made it was a fairly good bet the first Bombardment Charm was had severely wounded it. Direct hits were useless, but blasting the stone snake statues to hurt it would be poetic justice.

But the sounds of her casting were still too loud and Basilisks had a superb ability to detect any sort of vibrations. It came back in her direction and Alexandra didn't need to look at it to know it was all fangs blazing.

"REDUCTO! BOMBARDA! REDUCTO!" And she finished with a new high attack of Fragarach when the beast came into close quarters. The Basilisk withdrew as its skin was once more perforated. Too fast. The water was allowing it to gain an impressive speed. Surely it had been the intent of Salazar Slytherin when he had built the damned thing under the lake.

The three last spells had cost her too much. She was tired and her clothes were more a hindrance than a protection now. When was the last time she'd been able to rest? She couldn't remember.

Rapid looks all over the Chamber of Secrets showed her she was alone –if you didn't count the floating corpses of Riddle, Rosier, Reed and Vaisey. Certainly the flame bird had teleported them away.

"But then I have always been alone from the beginning, no?" It was getting more difficult to maintain position and breathing. The water had reached her breasts. It was not the Chamber of Secrets anymore; Alexandra officially renamed the place Swimming Pool of Secrets. Not that it was going to attract a lot of swimmers with the potential of XXXXX-class creatures bathing in it.

She was alone...but the words she had promised to a certain goblin came back. The promise not to die. And there were her friends who would ask where she was once they were out of the infirmary. No, dying was not an option. And if there was no exit anymore, she could always make one or die trying.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

That some parts of the ceiling still held after centuries of neglect and the ravage of their battle was a credit to its builder. But the last spell she threw at it was the last straw. In a thunderous crash, an entire section fell down...right on the Basilisk. Alexandra felt her legs go weak as her last reserves had gone but it shouldn't matter as the water floxed down and the Basilisk hissed in agony. A maelstrom of water filled the Chamber...and suddenly the breaking point arrived.

Like an invisible tremor, Alexandra felt the discordance. The millenary wards created by Salazar Slytherin were collapsing under the torrent of water submerging the room. Teleportation would be dangerous with the Hogwarts wards so close, but no longer impossible. The Basilisk surged from the waters again, a shrieking hiss coming out of the monstrous maw.

"Die in the darkness, King of Snakes."

Unlike the last times she had practised teleportation, there was nothing pleasant or smooth in it. Whether it was due to Hogwarts or the Chamber wards or her magical core running on low power remained to be seen, but her teleportation was like one of these toboggans Dudley always wanted to trap her in with his friends when they went on school excursions. She had willed to re-materialise two or three feet away from the lake's shore and at the sea level.

She was largely ten meters away from it and reintegrated reality three meters too high.

When she smashed the surface of the lake, her only reflex was to use the very basic 'bomb' reception one of the swimming coaches had taught to the beginners four years ago. She didn't think anyone could miss the fantastic splash.

The distance to swim was a real nightmare. Alexandra had never been a good swimmer and Hogwarts provided no opportunity to master any aquatic sports. Praise Magic that summer was not far away; the water was cold but bearable. At least it was not February when ice was still in the water and you could die in minutes without the adequate warming spells.

 _Note to self: suggest to the Board of Governors the installation of a swimming pool_.

Unfortunately laughing made water enter her mouth and she had to stop, concentrate on her imperfect crawl and finish this journey. When she reached the hard and cold ground, her muscles burnt everywhere and her state had gone beyond mere exhaustion.

In the distance, she saw dozens of wizards and other figures running towards her. At last, the cavalry was arriving. Too late, but Alexandra supposed it was the intention which counted, no?

A second geyser erupted from the Black Lake. The monstrous head of the Basilisk surged forwards, bleeding and hissing in a cacophony of death.

"Truly, the monster deserves his name..."

Seriously how bloody resistant were those abominations? Only Fragarach seemed able to pierce their scales and inflict lasting damages. And it was not like blades wielded by gods and heroes were sold at every shop of Diagon Alley. No, Basilisks were truly army-killers.

The Ravenclaw witch thought the beast was going to rush at her once again but the trajectory of the King of Snakes was dozens of feet to her right. But then she saw the crimson colour of blood spreading in the dark waters of the lake.

As the seconds passed and the cries of alarm of humans came behind her, the wounds on the scales became evident. It looked like the Basilisk had received a good part of the Chamber on its head and its body. The eyes and a good part of the head were mangled. Hundreds of wounds had got past its defences. With a last effort, the Basilisk of Salazar Slytherin came ashore and went still.

Alexandra laughed. She could not help it. It was too good to be true. Two Basilisks vanquished in a space of a few hours. To her best knowledge, no wizard or witch since this abomination had been invented had been able to triumph alone against the XXXXX-class monster known as the King of Snakes.

Her legs were unsteady but she managed to walk at a slow pace. She had difficulties breathing. Had she broken something? With the sum of things that had turned wrong today, this would be one more turn of bad luck...

When she reached the carcass of the Basilisk, a crowd had already formed around it. Not humans, though. No, most of the beings in front of her were goblins. And leading them...

"Accountant Grimjaw."

"Heiress Potter."

The old goblin had not much changed since their last meeting a bit less than a year ago. Except for the impressive bronze-coloured armour he wore, obviously. And the very large halberd.

"Your victory?"

"I collapsed an entire ceiling over it."

Her vision was failing and fast. Her ears were buzzing and she was barely able to hear the grunt of the goblin's approval.

"Impressive."

"You should have seen what I did to the other."

Alexandra wasn't sure if it was possible to give a goblin a heart attack but she was sure Grimjaw had not been far from that point. Why was everything turning so fast? She felt more and more light-headed.

A few more steps and she was at sword's point of the King of Snakes. One more time, Alexandra drew Fragarach and held it in the air.

"My name is Alexandra Victoria Potter. By my magic and my sword, this Basilisk has been slain. By the Powers of blood, magic and war, I claim the corpse of this second Basilisk for House Potter. So the fate of battle has spoken, so mote it be. Is there anyone who wants to challenge my claim?"

A cloud of magic surrounded her and the pain lessened. It was easier to breathe. Calm and serenity flooded in her soul and magic.

 _ **Well done, my Champion**_. This was a voice she had heard before. Samhain. The celebration. MacDougal Manor.

 _Thank you, Lady Morrigan_.

Alexandra heard the cheers and the acclamations. And for the first time in days, she knew the time of the Heir of Slytherin was over.


	41. Hail the Basilisk-Slayer

**Note** : This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

 **Chapter 41**

 **Hail the Basilisk-Slayer**

 **12** **April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Albus felt tired. In fact, the tiredness in his bones was perhaps the worst he had ever felt in his life. This was not the fatigue of having fought a long battle, oh no. If he had been exhausted by something like that, a good night of sleep would have resolved the problem.

No, this was the result of the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets disaster. Because once the Heir had died and whatever method Tom Riddle had used to put Hogwarts in lock-down had faded, the situation had gone to hell and that wasn't an exaggeration. There was no one left to fight. The two Basilisks were dead. Tom Riddle, or at least his briefly reincarnated souvenir, was killed. The Slytherins who had followed him had been decimated. Lewis Wilkes, Thomson Carrow, Jared Miller, Oliver Nairne, William Rosier and Byron Vaisey of the 'Heir Conspiracy' had fallen, and in two cases it meant the end of their Houses as they were the last members of their lines alive. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague had participated in the whole tragedy but had been captured alive. Professor Kaitlyn Reed, the useless Junior DADA Professor, had been sacrificed in a very dark Blood Ritual. Ginny Weasley, the youngest of Arthur and Molly's child, had been possessed and the influence of the young Voldemort had transformed her into one of his servants. Several wings of the castle had seen terrible exchanges of spells. Many students, Professors and Aurors had been petrified, wounded or both. Dozens of Unforgivables had been used inside Hogwarts walls. Students had killed students.

Perhaps calling it a disaster was too weak a word after all. Thank Merlin, he had been suspended when this small war had been fought. Otherwise he was quite sure his tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts would have been over before sunset. As it was, he had been reinstated in a hurry...but nothing could stop the political storm which had struck him today. Between the Board of Governors, the Ministry and all its departments, angry parents, angry students, the press and pretty much everyone who wanted to scream, Albus had received this morning hundreds of Howlers, thousands of demands and threats, and he had been literally buried under the paperwork.

This was the worst scandal which had struck Hogwarts in all his years as Headmaster, and the Chief Warlock included the atrocious attack of Hogsmeade by Death Eaters fifteen years ago. Most of the students were now looking at him with faces of betrayal and the Grand Sorcerer knew their parents had to regard him with suspicion too. They knew a couple of Basilisks had roamed the corridors of the castle since Halloween. In hindsight, the Supreme Mugwump knew he should have just broken the bank and used secret funds from the Order of the Phoenix to hire a combination of Hit-Wizards, Monster Hunters and professional investigators.

The vermin of Lucius Malfoy would have asked many questions, but questions he could deal with. This entire debacle had already cost him over a decade of favours, dozens of secret dealings, over sixty thousand Galleons and forced him to discard dozens of his plans. The influence and the political power lost were more difficult to estimate, but it was happy happenstance that the Dark factions had just received the equivalent of a Muggle atomic bomb because his control over the Light was terribly shaky at the moment. The Wizengamot had been compared to a sea of hungry sharks many times these past months, but now it was more a stormy ocean with leviathans coming out of the depths. On the foreign side, the ICW was still under the shock of the news but that was not going to be pretty either.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was running everywhere trying to extinguish the fires. Despite his best efforts, he was not naive enough to believe he was doing more than mitigating the damage. Tom Riddle had planned too well with this scheme – although with one base impossible to locate below the castle and a limited control of the wards, the advantages the Heir of Slytherin enjoyed had been great.

And now here he was, in his own office, facing three of the highest-ranked Ministry appointees. Albus did not hold the upper hand for the moment, a troubling thing because he had carefully and methodically decorated the place to be the one in control. His workplaces in his Wizengamot and ICW offices had been purposely built to accomplish the same goals.

"What in the name of Merlin were you thinking, Albus?" snarled Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic's tone was quite loud for a man unable to see past the 'Imperius Defence' of many Death Eaters and if they had been alone Dumbledore would have forcefully reminded him why it was a bad idea to shout at him. He was the Chief Warlock, the Supreme Mugwump and the Defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Fudge was just a minor bureaucrat, a very average wizard whose highlight in his career before his ascension to the post of Minister had been a junior position in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. When the favourite candidates of the 1983 election had been for one reason or another made unsuitable, Albus and several of the most prestigious Houses of the Wizengamot had decided to fund the campaign of this non-entity. It had not been that bad when they were at peace but at the first sign of a crisis...

"I was thinking I had to uphold my vows to preserve Hogwarts sovereignty and I had no idea the problem was so deeply rooted in Hogwarts' foundations. There was no wizard or witch in my opinion who could claim the title of Heir of Slytherin since all the members of that dreadful line are long dead. The Dark Artefact which has caused so many deaths should have been detected or destroyed by the outer wards...the fact that they didn't tells me someone very familiar with our security system has found a way to fool them. I could have intervened quickly when the Heir launched its final attack but as you can remember Cornelius, I was suspended." This was the version of the events he would defend...it had the advantage of being close to the truth.

Fudge's anger seemed to abate and he nodded, but the witch and the wizard to his sides were not so easily convinced. Not surprising, Bartemius Crouch and Amelia Bones had brains in working order unlike their moronic superior.

"The Board of Governors is far more severe with your performance," the Regent of House Bones affirmed. The Headmaster forced himself to stay unreadable and locked his emotions behind his most powerful Occlumency shields. Unlike Fudge, Amelia would not be convinced by platitudes and excuses. The Head of the DMLE had never been his ally, and her niece had been in danger because of Riddle machinations. "Lord Catterick, Lord Kensington and Lord Smith are incredibly troubled by the illegal knowledge the students of House Slytherin have of the Dark Arts."

It showed how short-sighted they were, in Albus' humble opinion. Those Lords had allowed themselves to be blackmailed by Malfoy and had not been shy accepting Death Eater gold when Voldemort had been defeated.

"Lucius Malfoy for his particular troubling behaviour this year has been removed from the Board," declared Bartemius Crouch Senior. As always, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was humourless and able to relay a political decision without looking like he was speaking of one of his sworn enemies. This strict stance had only broken once in decades of career. "Several of the laws he proposed will be examined again. The threats he formulated against his colleagues of the Board are greatly troubling."

That was...relatively good. With Malfoy out of his way, his influence on the Board should be able to recover faster. Of course this assumed he would be in a position to exploit this opportunity. Judging by Crouch and Bones' determined expressions, a few of their decisions were not going to be pleasant for him.

"My Aurors have examined all the evidence available to us concerning the 1992-1993 year with the help of the Goblins of Gringotts," declared the formidable witch leading the DMLE. Truly Amelia would have been a priceless recruit for the Order of the Phoenix but her determination to uphold the law made that impossible. Besides, she was Grey, not Light. "And we have confirmed the culpability of every Slytherin killed. Had they lived, they would all have been condemned to a life-sentence in Azkaban. We will convene several courts but I would not be surprised if we end up seizing House Wilkes and House Rosier's main assets."

"Many students swore their allegiance to the Heir," Albus commented absently. If he could expel a few more sons of the Dark, this would go some way to restore order in the ranks of the Light...

"Yes but unfortunately the proto-Dark Marks this 'Heir' gave to his followers were not permanent," Crouch told him. "These creations lacked the Concealing Charms the true Dark Marks had in the war, but they are easy to remove with some specific Potions and unfortunately by the time the investigators of Amelia entered Slytherin House, the survivors had erased all evidence." The former DMLE Head did not look enthusiastic about the idea of Junior Death Eaters escaping the sword of justice.

"We think between one and three Heir supporters have not been discovered," commented Amelia Bones. "As House Slytherin has a high number of Heirs, Heiresses and Wizengamot Lords' children, we can't dose them with Veritaserum without their parents' consent." The Regent of House Bones did not waste her breath telling them the odds of such a proposal being accepted. No sane Slytherin would accept revealing the secrets of their House voluntarily.

"You have Mr Warrington and Mr Montague." Thanks to young Neville and his friends, Albus didn't add. Those were the only Heir supporters confirmed and alive. The psychopath daughter of James Potter had left no survivors from her battles.

"But they did not cast any illegal spells and the proto-Dark they had on their arms do not require the murder of someone." Crouch's opinion on the two fourth-year Slytherins was evident: the man would have directly sent them to Azkaban for a life-sentence if he had had evidence to support their guilt. "They maintain they never went to the Chamber of Secrets and only lit a few fireworks in the Quidditch stadium. We think they are telling the truth." The 'we' included Amelia of course. Fudge was a buffoon in Crouch's eyes and it had been that way for a long time. "The only thing we can blame them for is their refusal to name the accomplices we missed."

"Punishments?" The evidence was flimsy and they had not killed someone so Albus figured he would have to give them a second chance.

"The Board has decided to suspend Mr Montague and Mr Warrington for the rest of the year," announced Fudge like it was an excellent point and not the least they could do. "They will repeat their current year next September and will be banned from the Quidditch team for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. Due to the gravity of their actions, they won't be eligible for the Prefect title and will pay a moderate fine to the students petrified by the Heir."

"I approve." There was not much point going against the Board at that point. All it would achieve was a loss of influence for two Dark Purebloods who weren't worth it. Anyway, Graham Montague and Cassius Warrington were in the lower part of the rankings for their year. According to Severus' own reports, their chances of doing well in their OWLS were already seriously compromised. Perhaps one more year would allow them to catch up academically. "Have my recommendations for Miss Ginevra Weasley been accepted?"

The poor girl had been the worst victim in the entire affair but the actions she had committed while possessed were a political headache by themselves.

"They were not." It took all Albus' skill in the Mind Arts not to fume in anger at the DMLE's Head. "Let's be brutally honest, Albus. The girl was possessed many times and the Unspeakables are amazed she is still alive considering the number of Dark Rituals she was subjected to. The Mind Healers of Saint Mungo's have managed to restore her mind but the Heir did his best to create a Dark Witch. The girl will need Mind Healers every day for the rest of the year because I refuse to let her dark persona run free in the streets."

"And there are the political implications." After so long without speaking, Fudge's voice had returned to its hesitant and very familiar tone. "The illegal Blood Rituals practised by the members of House Slytherin have come very close to entirely destroying the magical identity of Miss Ginevra Weasley. Lord Brent Yaxley is furious because according to the lineage tests, the 'Scylla Yaxley' persona is an inch or two away from belonging in his family."

It was why Albus and many other Houses had done their best to ban forever these nasty rituals. Usurpations, line thefts and various illegal machinations were too easy to accomplish when the materials were available. And as delicious as the irony of a notorious Death Eater being caught in this trap was, the Chief Warlock did not want Miss Weasley to disappear. Lord Brent Yaxley was the last of his line and the Grand Sorcerer wanted this state of affairs to continue. 'Scylla Yaxley' would not only provide an Heiress to House Yaxley, it would break Arthur and Molly's hearts and give Voldemort an additional supporter should he manage to gain a body again. This was of course unacceptable.

"As long as Miss Ginevra Weasley does not participate in a sabbat or other banned magical rituals, Lord Yaxley has no power over her. I propose to cast an extremely advanced glamour on her and erase this abominable persona she is forced to host in her body."

By the looks of it, his proposition did not make unanimity but this was fine. He had many friends and wizards in debt to him at Saint Mungo's. It would not be difficult to convince them of the rightfulness of his views.

"We will see." The sentence uttered by Bartemius Crouch was extremely evasive. "In the mean time, we have a bigger problem on our hands. Albus, what in the name of the Founders were you thinking when you took the guardianship of Alexandra Potter?"

The Defeater of Grindelwald opened his mouth to answer but the man who could have been Minister of Magic if not for his Death Eater son spoke before him.

"This was a rhetorical question." By the icy look, Crouch was well aware of the...questionable actions the Light had used to break the Potter shops and investments. "You did not bother confirm to the Wizengamot the Heiress was alive for a decade, when she attends Hogwarts there is not a single word from you about how you have sent her to live with Muggles! And if that wasn't enough, your pet Phoenix left her alone to face a sixty-foot long Basilisk! What in the name of Morgana were you thinking?"

"I have many duties Lord Crouch and the very reason Fawkes did not act to save the Potter Heiress was her possession of an incredibly dangerous weapon able to hurt Phoenixes." Dumbledore replied. Once again, it had the advantage of being the truth. Clarent the Slayer of Kings was a weapon forged by Death and the Phoenixes were Eternal Life. These two powers were never able to coexist in the same location. "And at least by living with Muggles, I was thinking the Potter Heiress would not follow the same Dark path her father did!" The Supreme Mugwump put sadness and reluctance in his voice. "But it seems I am mistaken. Alexandra Potter is a murderess and a Dark Witch, ready to slaughter her fellow students at the first opportunity. She will be expelled and I will demand-"

"Chief Warlock..." The words coming out the Regent of House Bones were telling how furious she was. "You never checked over your ward for a period of a decade. When she came to Hogwarts, you did not meet her or even officially inform her you were her magical guardian. The DMLE has enough evidence to know you tampered with her mail and the letters of many other students you were supposed to support. To sum-up, you are completely unfit to be a magical guardian."

Despite his iron control, this time the magic of the Headmaster flashed out of his body. Fudge jumped in his seat but Bones and Crouch only regarded him in contempt.

"And you forgot the 1963 law on this particular guardianship." Crouch satisfaction was clear. "Any crimes an underage Heiress commits while under your sphere of authority would see yourself sued in front of the Wizengamot."

"This is your interpretation of the law! My interpretation would be to send this girl to Azkaban immediately!"

"Should we send the Boy-Who-Lived by the same Portkey then?" The sarcastic answer froze the Headmaster. "Miss Potter and her study group have been very useful by providing mountains of evidence of all the actions you swept under the carpet. It seems there are a lot of illegal activities at Hogwarts that you never bothered to inform the DMLE of."

Damn. If they had enough evidence...this was bad. Albus cursed Alexandra Potter and vowed the spawn of James Potter was going to regret this.

"What is your decision?" He resolved to say after a few seconds of mutual glaring.

"Your guardianship of Miss Alexandra Potter is henceforth revoked," said Cornelius in his hesitating tone. His poor hat was contorting under the pressure of his hands. "A new audience will take place as soon as possible to determine a new magical guardian."

This...this he could deal with. The guardianships were under the Department of Magical Education authority and they were all very traditional, favouring blood ties over any other type of relationship. He would have to see if he could convince Sirius Black to assume his godfather duties for the next year. But even in the contrary case, Lord Liam McLaggen and Andromeda Tonks would have impeccable credentials to obtain the guardianship of this new ward. The latter was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix proper, but she hated the Dark with a fierce passion. Not that there should be problems. After all, no one had batted an eyebrow in the Wizengamot the last time when he had declared he would take the custody of the Last Potter.

"The great bat Miss Potter used to destroy the eyes of the first Basilisk will be sent back to her reserve in South America," Albus had to admit he had never thought to fight the King of Snakes like this, "and she will have to be tested by the Department of Magical Transportation for an Apparition licence." Usually it was not offered until a wizard or witch was of age, but Albus in this case agreed it was prudent to know exactly what Alexandra Potter was capable of. Merlin only knew what sort of activities the young Potter would do if she was able to escape the vigilance of authorities.

Yes, a good start but not sufficient. Albus was not going to let this Ravenclaw murderess restore her House to her pre-war wealth and status.

"These are good measures." Cornelius beamed at him. "But I would not be fulfilling my duties as Chief Warlock if I do not insist the conditions of the Right of Conquest to be respected. The Galleons Miss Potter will earn from the corpses of the Basilisks will be placed in a separate vault as it is proper for the dowry of an Heiress. The Inheritance Act of 1750, I believe." No, the Ravenclaws were not the only ones to know obscure and esoteric laws. The Chief Warlock had to admit it had taken him two hours to find the relevant paragraphs but at least James Potter's little psychopath would not be able to use this fortune until an eventual marriage. And at twelve years old with a Muggle education, any potential union would be far in the future.

Cornelius Fudge nodded very fast, perhaps because he did not want a child free to buy half of Diagon Alley on a whim. Bartemius looked stone-faced and it was difficult to guess what the man was thinking without Legilimency. Amelia on the other hand was not hiding her irritation.

"This is of course your privilege...Chief Warlock." The venom in her voice was powerful and he knew he had just made a political mistake. This was not irritation. This was pure loathing. "But as the Regent of House Bones and a woman I can tell you bluntly your actions against House Potter are petty and worthy of the politician you have become."

Then Crouch spoke and Albus Dumbledore realised the real hammer was about to fall. "You have been overworked a lot these last months, Chief Warlock." The mockery of the title was impossible to miss this time. "The ICW this morning has accepted graciously your resignation from your positions of Supreme Mugwump and ICW delegate." The Headmaster of Hogwarts gritted his teeth. One of the three most important positions he held, lost just like that. This was going to play hell with his plans of organising the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts.

"Who will replace me as Britain's representative?"

The answer of the Minister of Magic gave him nausea.

"Since he is one of our best diplomats and is currently free of any obligations...Lord Lucius Malfoy."

* * *

 **12 April 1993, Azkaban Fortress**

The fortress-prison of Azkaban was an awful place. At least this was Auror John Dawlish's opinion and he knew it was one shared by most of the Auror Corps. But then the place had never been intended as a holiday residence.

The origins of Azkaban were shrouded in myth and legends. Some wizards thought it had been the refuge of an ancient and extinct magical race. One of the alternative ideas often resurfacing was that it had been one of the first goblin fortresses ever built, one abandoned after their terrible wars against the Giants of old. A German expert of renown had published a work on the possibility it had been the place where a coven of necromancers had played with forces they absolutely didn't control.

But while nobody could agree who had built the damned place, everybody agreed this was a place where the Light had long been defeated. Dark Lord after Dark Lord had made the citadel their lair, surrounded by the horrible Dementors. Azkaban had seen many battles between evil wizards and monstrous creatures. Ultimately, the Ministry had had to intervene, but by then the effects of tens of thousands Dark Rituals and incantations making the Unforgivables look like small fry had been thrown around.

Despite half of the island being sunk under the level of the sea, Azkaban was still a formidable fortress. It was also shrouded in darkness and its location in the middle of the North Sea made the climate a dangerous enemy even with magic at one's disposal. Between the murderous wards – over two-thirds of the protections were making curse-breakers scratch their heads in consternation – the soul-sucking Dementors and the real nutcases they were supposed to guard, Azkaban was the one place in this world closest to your worst nightmare...and the only serious challenger worldwide was the fortress of Nurmengard.

No Auror loved to be assigned to Azkaban. Contrary to other postings, there were no volunteers. No one in the elite force of the DMLE was mad enough to volunteer for this sort of duty. Since they were at the moment some two hundred-plus Aurors in active duty and the peace-time garrison was of fifty warden-guards and twenty Aurors, this meant a one-month tour of duty roughly every ten months. It went without saying it was miserable month, where the rain, the cold and the dark presence of hundreds of Dementors were forcing every DMLE employee to face a part of their soul they were content to ignore in their everyday lives.

The screams, the cries and the imprecations of the prisoners made the situation worse. As bad as the Aurors had it in the lower levels with the minor criminals, they were at least protected by powerful wards and a Patronus could be cast when the dark thoughts grew too pressing. The presence of a single Dementor was sufficient to suck all happiness in a room for hours. In the upper levels where the You-Know-Who senior Death Eaters were imprisoned, there were at least half a dozen of the monsters in the vicinity. And in the foundations...John tried to think about something else. There were places in Azkaban no human had ever visited and for excellent reasons.

Fortunately, his stay in this dark place was nearly over. Two more days and he would be free to sleep in a bed with no XXXXX-class creature in a radius of several hundred miles. Free to patrol Diagon Alley, lead raids on the houses of law-breakers and train to stop novice Dark Wizards. But before that, he had this patrol to finish, which given the hour of the day, unfortunately meant giving the prisoners their lunch. He had been unlucky at the last card game and this meant he had to go to the upper levels at the light of his dog Patronus.

As he pushed the food chariot down the sinister corridor, Dawlish wondered why they weren't killing all these bastards in the cells. The thugs, renegades of the Durmstrang Institute and mercenaries from the Balkans were bad enough. Those were the rank and file of You-Know-Who's army and they had been convicted of uncountable crimes against the wizards and witches of Britain. But the inhabitants of the upper cells were far worse. Take the one he threw the food to for example. Julian Ardoch, one of the infamous Ardoch twins, a specialist in Dark Arts and Alchemy and one of the many members of his House imprisoned in the fortress. With his brother Blake – who was in a cell five feet away – this Dark Wizard had tried his best to emulate the works of Grindelwald lieutenants and crossbreed humans with other magical species. Years ago, the Ardoch wizard had been a pretty face but now he presented the face of a monster and his mutterings proved beyond doubt that Azkaban had transformed him into something far more abominable than he had been before his arrest.

In some prisons funded and maintained by the various Ministries of Europe, Julian Ardoch would have been the most infamous prisoner. Here he was not even close. Passing the Ardoch twins and the cell of Bartemius Crouch Junior, the Auror arrived in front of Bellatrix Lestrange's cell. A small threnody was coming out of her black lips. John Dawlish had no idea the signification of these words...and he didn't want to know them. He threw the food and got away quickly. The witch was chained with wards supposedly preventing her from using magic, but it had not stopped her from killing five guards in the first week she was brought here.

Yes, these captives were all monsters. The upper levels contained thirteen members of the so-called 'Inner Circle' of You-Know-Who and apart from one all had to be fed regularly. After Bellatrix Lestrange it was the turn of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.

The inhabitant of the next cell was also infamous in his own way. Good thing he finally had something fun today. After throwing the food to the prisoner, he added a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ between the bars.

"Potter! Read the newspaper, your hellspawn is making the front page!"

Truth to tell, John Dawlish had not expected much of a reaction. The fallen Lord of House Potter was fairly apathetic compared to the regular screams and moans uttered by the Lestrange brothers, Ian Jugson or Randall Travers.

Therefore John jumped in surprise when a roar of anger shook the dark walls of Azkaban.

"NO! NOT HER! NOT MY DAUGHTER!"

Auror Dawlish could not help but chuckle as the prisoner grasped the newspaper like it contained his damnation announcement. "What's wrong Potter? You don't like that your daughter is killing junior Death Eaters?"

There was no sound from the other prisoners but Dawlish knew they were hearing every word of this conversation. His ears were good, but he almost missed the whisper pronounced by James Potter.

"The gears of fate start to turn...one by one. Alexandra...I'm sorry."

* * *

 **13 April 1993, Rochester, England**

Peter Pettigrew watched the fortress of Rochester and sighed. The twelfth-century stone tower was one of the best preserved fortresses of that period in England and France and he generally was fond of visiting old places for the fun of it. It was probably his fondness for Hogwarts which had passed on to similar constructions.

On the other hand, he had visited many times the keep that John Lackland had besieged for seven weeks during the First Baron's War before hunger forced the garrison to surrender. The old fortress was more like an old companion now than a true novelty. Moreover, there wasn't much to see in the middle of the night. At this hour, the pubs, the museums and pretty much everything selling drinks or something to eat were closed.

Usually this wasn't much of a problem. Peter was a rat Animagus, a wizard who had through force of will, a lot of training and an unending amount of pain managed to gain a rat form. If he really wanted to enter a pub and get himself drunk with a few beers, closed doors wouldn't stop him for more than a few seconds. But if he wasn't at the meeting point when his contact arrived, there would be hell to pay. Despite being four hours past the agreed meeting time, the beings he was working for were not exactly renowned for their gentleness and understanding. No, Peter was being paid very nice sums and unfortunately this meant accepting the...eccentricities of his superiors.

The fourth member of the Old Marauders sat on an old bench and drew a copy of the Daily Prophet from his coat's expanded pocket. On the first page, the photo of a teenage girl drawing an impressive sword next to a gigantic snake was eye-catching. When he had discovered the news, he had almost had a stroke. Alexandra Potter had done the impossible: killed two Basilisks in the same day. Truly James and Lily's daughter was something special...and she was not yet thirteen years old. Yes, paying his debt to House Potter had been a wise decision.

"Hail the Basilisk-Slayer..." Peter supposed that if the girl didn't find a job at the end of her Hogwarts scholarship, she could always get a job as a Monster Hunter. That was if the Hit-Wizards didn't try to recruit her beforehand, of course. By the published list of students having died in this little bloodbath, several lines of Death Eaters were nearing extinction now. Wilkes and Rosier for sure had been totally extinguished. A lot of veteran DMLE personnel had to celebrate after this purge of Slytherin House.

It was only after half an hour of reading – by then he had reached the Quidditch section and was laughing at the last calamitous defeat of the Chudley Cannons –that he felt the first tingle of his own magic reacting.

The Ministry-approved newspaper was folded and put back in his pocket. Just as he stood from the bench, a sort of cold wind was felt against his skin and his arms slightly trembled. This was just for show, naturally. Had his contact wanted to surprise him in the middle of the night, he wouldn't have seen it coming before it was too late.

From a street badly lit a woman marched out. If anyone had seen her at this precise moment, the general remark would have been the woman had just come out from a very upper-class party. She was wearing an expensive dark blue robe with blue gloves coming up to her forearms and a finery of sapphires around her neck. Brown hairs flowed nicely past her shoulders in a fashionable trend. Her shoes were high heels blue and silver that most women would have been unable to walk with. And maybe she had been at a party hours before, for all Peter knew. But as she closed the distance, her pale visage was revealed and her lips still had traces of blood.

"Lady Agnes." Pettigrew bowed largely and then kissed lightly the hand she held out.

"Dear Peter." The black eyes of the vampire woman were dull for the present time. Good. It meant she was not angry or hungry. Not that he was too worried about the last part, Animagus were highly prized servants for a vampire coven and his blood was disgusting to them. Still, he had not survived until then by being careless. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, my Lady." Peter took the small golden coffer around his neck and activated the runic Engorgement Charm. Once its size had been multiplied by three the Marauder opened it to reveal a small golden key.

Delicately, Agnes Calpurnius took it and raised it to her eyes.

"One of the Boreas Keys, my Lady. Fresh from Albus Dumbledore's secret vaults."

"Impressive."

Peter Pettigrew did his best to lower his gaze, a task far from easy given the hypnotic abilities of the she-vampire's eyes. And the call was getting more insistent, after so many months far away from any vampire. Lady Agnes Calpurnius was not a Coven Elder of the Shadow Blades unlike her husband, but like the eldest vampires sired in this line she could call rats of all kinds. Wererats and common rats were especially vulnerable to this power, but it worked on Animagus rats too.

"To be honest my Lady, the real difficulty was finding the box in the middle of the mess the Headmaster calls his 'collection'."

Peter wished he was joking but it was the truth. The Orpheus Vault was a place where the Headmaster could store whatever things he wanted away from the curious eyes of the students. It was only accessible by a secret tunnel below the Headmaster's office and the Marauders had only discovered it in an audacious raid in the middle of their fifth year though they had not been able to put it on the Map.

With Dumbledore suspended, accessing it had been way too easy. The problem had been finding what he searched for without leaving traces of his passage. In forty-plus years as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore had not classified anything in that room and it had taken him over three days to find the Boreas Key. Only to emerge in the middle of a war zone but that was another story.

"Good." Agnes made a bewitching posture and Pettigrew had to remind himself hard that this woman was married and was only playing with him like cats play with mice. "The four Boreas Keys are ours and none are the wiser. After twelve long years, the release of our leader is finally at hand."

The smile the vampire woman made showed teeth that were definitely not those of a vegetarian creature.

* * *

 **13 April 1993, Hospital Saint Mungo's, London, England**

Hospitals were boring once you had visited one. Visit one, and you had visited enough to know all of them. There was white on the walls, the floors and the ceiling. The food had not much in quantity and quality. And there was not much to do between the interviews of the DMLE and the shot sessions with the Healers and Medi-Witches of Saint Mungo's. In the absence of books and magazines to while away the time, Alexandra was bored. Although honestly, being bored and at a magical hospital for a mid-level magical exhaustion and wounds suffered by Basilisk blood wasn't that terrible. There were far more unpleasant places to be. Azkaban, just to name an obvious example. A few of the magical investigators had not been exactly shy on the fact they would have arrested her if they had the opportunity. But then it was not her fault that the five Aurors stationed at Hogwarts had been useless, bigoted and been petrified in the first ten minutes of the grand attack.

Seriously if she one day became Head of the DMLE, there would be some changes.

To be sure, there had been some advantages for this short visit to the greatest magical hospital of Britain. Since her magical guardian and the Dursleys had had better things to do during her childhood, Alexandra had not received the basic potions immunising against various magical diseases. Now this issue had been corrected. And tomorrow, she would be able to pass her teleportation licence – or Apparition licence as it was called – five years before it was normally legal.

Someone knocked at the door. Alexandra frowned as she consulted her watch. It was too early for a visit. Perhaps another Auror or a Healer wanting to ask her questions about the whole Chamber of Secrets incident?

"Enter!"

The door opened and the person on the other side was not employed by the Ministry. Not to her knowledge, Alexandra amended. Wearing flashing gold and pink robes, there stood Gilderoy Lockhart, Senior Professor of DADA, blah, blah, blah. Also the man who was pretending to be a buffoon while spying on the whole Hogwarts population.

"Professor."

"Miss Potter."

The supposedly famous author smiled but it was not the usual grandiloquent expression which had enthralled half of Hogwarts in the first days of September 1992. No, this time it was something honest and embarrassed. The wounds on his visage were almost healed –magic healing was so far above the non-magical hospitals it wasn't funny – but smiling awards were probably over for him. Lockhart had been struck by Dark Magic and it had left scars on his face.

"Thank you for saving my life." The blue eyes were not brilliant with joy. In fact, they had the shade and the feeling of someone having passed very close to death. "If you had not been there, Mr Carrow would have certainly killed me outright or-"

Lockhart didn't need to finish the sentence but he didn't really need to. The curse - and it had to be a curse because bad luck couldn't be that murderous - had made sure the Junior DADA Professor Kaitlyn Reed had died in a horrible manner. Alexandra had studied lengthily the files of the Slytherins she suspected to be associated with the Heir. Carrow and his friends had not the reputation of killing in one spell their victims.

"I did what every normal student would have done." Alexandra said in a low voice. "I may not like you very much for sabotaging our Defence class, but nobody deserves being tortured by a Death Eater."

Lockhart nodded gravely. "I know and you have my thanks...and I suppose my apologies too." The expression of his mouth turned to a half-smirk. "I have failed my reputation by being rescued by a twelve-year old. I fear the Dark Force Defence League will revoke my Honorary membership."

"Wait a minute..." The Potter Heiress said bewildered. "That isn't a fictional organisation? I had a bet with Morag you had invented the whole thing!"

The blonde-haired wizard chuckled. "Oh, no I didn't invent the organisation...but the League was created two hundred years ago by a...charming American wizard who had certain romantic ideas about what was considered Light and Dark. Today the Dark Force Defence League is more or less bankrupt and for a moderate fee it is really easy to gain membership."

The dark-haired girl stayed silent for a moment before deciding on her next question. Lockhart wouldn't reveal who he was working for; the spy-fraud had not cracked when they had him disarmed and bound, he was not going to spill his secrets now. So instead, she referred to another piece of troubling news.

"Why did you call me a Lady in your office? I am only the Heiress of my House for the time being..."

At these words Lockhart took a far more prudent expression. "Lady of Magic is a title many nations of the ICW are giving to a witch having a magical core twenty times the size of an average practitioner. Lord of Magic is the male equivalent. The squibs have not enough magic to use a wand; the Lords and Ladies have too much and if they learn how to fully develop their gifts, they can be real powerhouses for the defence forces of any government."

"Dumbledore and Voldemort are both in this category, I suppose?"

"Naturally," The green-eyed witch had nevertheless remarked how Lockhart had flinched when she had pronounced the name Voldemort. Whoever he was working for, this was indeed the British wizard who had once been sorted into Ravenclaw House. "But they aren't the only ones. New talents emerge in every generation...you are just one of many."

A bell rang in the distance, announcing the beginning of the visits. Lockhart cast a Tempus spell and sighed.

"Well it was a pleasure to have you as a student Miss Potter...try not to burn Hogwarts to the ground while I'm gone." Clearly the surprise must have been seen on her visage because the man made one of his so-annoying 'Lockhart smiles'. "Oh yes, Dumbledore fired me the moment the Healers let me out of their custody. I apparently failed to uphold the duty of the DADA teacher. What a hypocrite."

On this point, Alexandra had to nod in approval. If someone deserved to be fired for not doing his job, the Headmaster of Hogwarts would be dismissed in a day before going to Azkaban for sheer incompetence and endangering recklessly the students. But somehow, Alexandra doubted they would ever be that lucky.

From his suddenly enlarged trunk, the former Professor extracted a book and handed it to her. Alexandra held it and read the title on the expensive blue and bronze leather.

 **THE FALL OF SLYTHERIN'S HEIR**

 **By Gilderoy Lockhart**

"The last book I've had the pleasure to write." The grimace of the blonde wizard was half-ironic, half-sincere. "It details the various events of this year...I leave it to you Miss Potter to decide whether it should be published."

It was a very generous proposition. But Alexandra had the feeling that in these pages, Lockhart had put a lot of truths which were not all good to tell. That was what she got for complaining she had no available reading.

On this last farewell Gilderoy Lockhart departed in a swirl of gold and pink robes. A few seconds later the Ravenclaw remembered Lockhart was the only DADA teacher out of four to leave his post at Hogwarts alive in the last two years. Truly it was a great achievement given the madness of this school.

Alexandra had every intention of reading Lockhart's new best-seller – it could hardly be worse than _Break with a Banshee_ – but a new knock against the door forced her to abandon this idea. _The Fall of Slytherin's Heir_ was hidden under her pillow and Alexandra sat on the bed, silently grateful she had had the opportunity to be wearing the Hogwarts robes.

"Enter!"

For an instant she had the hope Morag and Hermione had gotten the permission to visit but this unlikely chance was dashed at first sight. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore walked into the white hospital room...and trailing his footsteps came Senior Accountant Grimjaw.

The Chief Warlock was in a disturbing robe combining light blue, greyish green and rose. Not that Alexandra really cared about this awful choice of clothes. No, all the Potter Heiress felt was a fire of hate towards the Defeater of Grindelwald. Once she had recovered, the second-year Ravenclaw had gotten the confirmation that the phoenix which had saved Longbottom and his consorts had been indeed Dumbledore's. With such a powerful Light creature at his control, the Headmaster should have been able to neutralise the Heir and its Basilisks months ago. But no, this senile old fool had done nothing. And in the Chamber of Secrets, his bird had left her alone and unsupported.

Dumbledore had tried to kill her. He had failed. The moment she was able to, Alexandra had sworn she would return the favour.

"How are you feeling my dear girl?" For a second, the young witch was stupefied by the audacity of the man. 'My dear girl'. She had half expected 'Miss Potter' instead of 'Heiress Potter', but the man had utterly broken the conduct code between two members of the nobility.

But two could play this game. Thus when she replied, her words were not for Dumbledore and she did not look in his direction.

"Senior Accountant Grimjaw. May the steel of your halberds stay sharp."

The old goblin had not chosen to come in his banker clothes today. Instead of his respectable clothes – respectable for a goblin of course – Grimjaw was in battle-armour decorated with gold and silver runes.

"And may your enemies perish in blood and despair, Heiress Potter."

Behind him, two young goblins set down a small mountain of paperwork and Fragarach in her scabbard. The sight of the later was cause for rejoice because it meant the goblins had decided to let her keep the sword. The sight of the former made her groan in consternation. That was a lot of parchment and by the mere sight of this documentation, it was going to be as boring and annoying as one of Binns' lectures.

Turning her head to the other side, Alexandra curtly acknowledged curtly Dumbledore.

"Chief Warlock." After the events of this year, it would be a dire day when she called this wizard Headmaster or added the habitual salutations behind them.

"Miss Potter, I don't think you realise how grave your actions were." When she had started Hogwarts, maybe Alexandra would have taken these words seriously. This had been before understanding how messed up the entire school was. "Your actions may have been considered legitimate defence, but killing leaves a stain on the soul..."

 _Wait what_?

Before she could contain herself, Alexandra exploded.

"So I was supposed to beg the Slytherins to be nice and let them get away with their murders? That's what you are saying, Chief Warlock?" Her half-roar half-shout appeared to amuse Grimjaw a lot. Dumbledore's facial expression on the other hand, revealed nothing and after a moment Alexandra diverted her gaze. According to the rumours of Hogwarts mill, you did not look a Master Legilimens in the eyes.

"Of course not!" The grandfather persona was back. "But I wanted to impress on you that the next time, the DMLE will not be so forgiving. Murdering another student is not something either I or the Board take lightly..."

Dumbledore continued his long elocution, droning lengthily on the values of Light, love and forgiveness. Alexandra listened, but most of the things the man discussed were way over her head philosophically and what she understood, the green-eyed witch didn't like. How nice of Dumbledore to tell that the Houses of Hogwarts had been created to unite the student body when Gryffindor and Slytherin were fighting at every occasion. How great of the Defeater of Grindelwald to demand an exemplary behaviour when he was five days out of seven away from the school. How hypocritical to put the blame on her when it was his actions and those of the Ministry which had resulted in countless Death Eaters escaping Azkaban with minimal excuses.

"If I were you, I would make sure there is no 'next time'. Because I will think twice 'next time' about playing the heroine and save your school."

It was like there had been a button released. A sort of magic pressure soared in the room and for a few seconds Alexandra had difficulties breathing. And then it disappeared like it had never existed. But for the first time, Alexandra had felt it, the sheer amount of power available to the old wizard. It was a hurricane of magic, one which rendered her most powerful spells tiny and ridiculous. Dumbledore wasn't the Leader of the Light because he had good ideas in the political arena or concerning the education of students.

He was the Leader of the Light because he was the most powerful wizard of the British Isles. He had been given these positions because save the Dark Lord Voldemort, there was no one in these last decades able to stop him.

"I will keep an eye on your actions, Miss Potter." And on this ominous promise, the Chief Warlock left the room, his awful robes floating in a fashion which was not inducing the same respect every arrival and departure of Professor Snape made.

"I am going to regret this, am I not?" Alexandra declared once the footsteps of the Headmaster had faded away and she had cast two privacy Charms.

"Possibly," grunted Grimjaw. "But Albus Dumbledore has far more important things to do nowadays than pursue a grudge against you. The battle you were involved in cost him his place as Supreme Mugwump and the various posts he had among the International Confederation of Wizards. His control over the Wizengamot is also...unstable and he is not your magical guardian anymore."

The young witch smiled at all the excellent news before asking the main question in her thoughts.

"Who will replace him as my magical guardian?"

"Unknown," was the not very encouraging answer. "There is to be an audience at an undetermined date but given the chaos you have unleashed by your actions, I don't expect the date to be set before July."

"I see."

She would have to ask Morag's parents if they were willing to be her magical guardians then. True there were no blood ties between House Potter and House MacDougal, but the Irish family was a Most Noble House and Ancient House of the Grey. Alexandra did not want to stay at the Dursleys more than was humanly necessary, and she certainly had no intention to be watched by one of Dumbledore's lackeys...

The goblin accountant whispered something unintelligible in his own tongue before grabbing the first parchment of the voluminous pile.

"To business, then," Grimjaw raised progressively his eyes. "The Chief Warlock has invoked a rather obscure law voted in 1750 requiring that all the gains you make of the Basilisk spoils will be kept in one of our vaults and only be released when you will marry."

Alexandra instantly felt her doubts about the manner she had answered Dumbledore dissipate into the air. The wizard had tried to screw her over once again. Unfortunately for him, she had read the law when she had searched the Act of Conquest precedents in Hogwarts library.

"I wonder if he really read the law in its totality?" The Potter Heiress said aloud. As Grimjaw did not appear to know what she was speaking about, the young Ravenclaw elaborated. "Unless the Chief Warlock has a two-thirds approval of the Wizengamot, he must transfer to my trust vault two thousand Galleons per year as a compensation."

Grimjaw chuckled loudly. Dumbledore was rumoured to be incredibly rich – between the income of an Alchemist, the countless political positions and his militia called the Order of the Phoenix, two thousand Galleons were unimportant. But it was a start.

"How much were the two Basilisks worth?"

This time it took fifteen seconds for Grimjaw to shuffle through in the numerous papers before replying.

"As we speak, the two Basilisks have been entirely processed by our teams and the different parts put into stasis. The only substance we sold was the Basilisk venom as per Ministry regulations." The accountant made a rude gesture with his right arm. "The DMLE and the different departments were very firm on their decision the venom had to be distilled and rendered into Potions as fast as possible."

"I read something on it." The Ravenclaw girl commented. "Diluted Basilisk venom can serve in a lot of counter-poisons, antidotes, vaccines and truth Potions. But with its rarity, its use is not common."

"Astute observation," agreed the old goblin. "Of course it will be a bit less rare to use it from this week onwards. Between the two Basilisks, our teams managed to extract roughly twenty litres of venom. The Ministry taxed the transaction of course. Gringotts also took its usual fees, but at sixteen Galleons per millilitre the sum remaining is still considerable."

Alexandra did a rapid calculus in her head and arrived at fantastical sums with a lot of zeros. "More than two hundred thousand Galleons?"

"The Ministry took six percent and Gringotts four. Once everything was paid, the sum stored in your new vault was roughly of two hundred and eighty-eight thousand Galleons."

Well at least killing the Basilisks had gone a long way in restoring the family fortune. Assuming she survived long enough to be married of course. And that she managed to find a book on dowries because she hadn't had the time to study this specific custom of the Wizarding World.

"It is only of course a small part of the profits the corpses of two Basilisks will give you," continued conversationally Grimjaw. "Everything is valuable on a Basilisk for certain parties. The scales interest many military organisations for their defensive applications. The blood is a delicacy for the vampires and can be used for many Healing Potions. Many goblin clans have commissioned weapons with their bones and their teeth in the past and I do not doubt our warriors will want to buy their own." Alexandra shivered at this one as she remembered the terrible fangs of the Kings of Snakes. "The only parts of the Basilisks we can't sell are the eyes. Your bat and your spells blinded the monsters."

This didn't make her sorry at all. The power to kill anything with your eyes was too dangerous. It was better that it disappeared forever. As far as she knew, Salazar Slytherin had left no diaries explaining how he had bred these Basilisks so hopefully this secret was lost.

"I will leave you a few days to decide, but if you decide to sell entirely the two Basilisks Gringotts should be able to negotiate a price between one million three hundred and one million six hundred thousand Galleons."

Okay, time to correct her words. Rich was too undermining. The appropriate adjective seemed 'filthy rich' or something on that level. But if she sold too much, there was a high risk of receiving hundreds of Marriage proposals, no? Decisions, decisions...

"I will think it about it. In the interval I suppose you want my report on the slaughter of Brise-Roc?"

After all, there was no sense delaying the inevitable. The Potter Heiress somewhat doubted Grimjaw would have taken the risk of antagonising Dumbledore if he didn't want something in return.

"Certainly," affirmed the armoured goblin in a tone that what far too friendly. "Will it include a twenty-foot tall monster of flames and darkness by any chance?"

Alexandra in general wasn't easily caught with her mouth wide opened, but in this case the sentence of her accountant made sure she did exactly that. One second later, her heart froze in terror as there was only one way Grimjaw could know about it. The hellish Salamander had resurfaced again.

"It does." She could not help but trembling and her voice was not assured at all. "If you know the description of this Summon, I suppose it means this demon has attacked again?"

"Three times," grunted the old goblin in a sinister tone. "One of our expeditionary forces in South America was ambushed in an ancient temple. A Chinese delegation visiting one of our Polish fortresses was the second. The third was a wizard bank funded by the Magical Sultanate of Java. In all three cases, there were some survivors to tell us the entity in question was responsible."

"And no magic or any weapons could injure it."

"No," confirmed Grimjaw. "Summoning is an ancient art of magic lost to wizards and goblins alike. The knowledge has been erased or destroyed...we don't know how to counter it anymore. Like Fragarach, it is a souvenir of days where magic ruled this earth and powers beyond our imagination were unleashed."

Two pair of eyes turned in the direction of the silver sword. Murmuring a sort of incantation in goblin language, Grimjaw handed the sword to Alexandra.

"According to our ancient war songs, only the Champions of the Morrigan can draw this sword safely." The Senior Accountant of the Potter vaults grinned. "Three Ministry employees got their hands rather severely burned when they tried to touch the pommel...the rumours of curses protecting it were not completely imaginary."

"You are letting me keep it? Just like that?"

This time the raven-haired girl could hear a true goblin laugh.

"The Answerer always returns to the hand of the Champion She chooses." The raised eyebrows suggested there still had been some...animated conversations between the high instances of Gringotts. "And since you have given it the properties of Basilisk venom, no reasonable goblin will want to fall on this blade. The sword of Mordred is yours Heiress Potter...use it wisely."

* * *

 **13 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

"Morag, is our friend dangerous?"

Morag MacDougal chuckled at Hermione Granger's naive question. Sometimes, it was good to see that the most academically-inclined member of their little group was still a good-little Gryffindor.

"Yes, Alex is dangerous." The red-haired witch told the bushy-haired Muggle-born. "But not to us."

"I don't think House Slytherin shares your opinion at all." The voice of Hermione was a bit testy. The pure-blood witch was not surprised. Hermione may have befriended Alexandra before her but apart from the troll incident of first year Hermione had never been on site to witness their raven-haired friend fight.

"House Slytherin can go to Azkaban for all I care." Morag declared. Unlike Nigel and Alex, she had never thought when they had seriously begun their researches that a large number of Slytherin students would be involved. Well, she had been dead wrong. It had cost her weeks turned into stone waiting for a restorative and Morag wasn't sure at all the Basilisk hadn't been sent to kill her and Hermione. They had watched the mirror after all, not the Monster's eyes directly. What would have happened otherwise was impossible to know, but given the fate of Professor Reed and Byron Vaisey...

Hermione looked a bit nauseous. Perhaps the same thoughts had arrived to her brain.

"I am proud of her..." The second-year bookworm told her. "She killed two Basilisks and saved the school. For us," This was actually a good point. Alexandra certainly hadn't done it for Dumbledore or because she loved the castle. "But I worry for her. She killed Devkins, she killed the troll...she kills and kills...don't tell me it's natural for someone. Alex is twelve, she shouldn't have so much blood on her hands..."

"My parents are going to pay a couple of Mind Healers for several months." The MacDougal Heiress informed her Gryffindor friend. "And I've spoken with Flitwick. He has agreed to modify the bedroom dispositions in Ravenclaw tower: Alexandra and I will share a dormitory from then on." Normally, it should have waited the beginning of third year – they had both given their accord in January – but to exceptional circumstances, exceptional changes.

The second Ravenclaw of the Exiled didn't add however that as long as Hogwarts was a battlefield like it had been this year, there was little chance for things to get better. Not with Dumbledore at the helm.

"Are there other things you have planned for her?"

"I've asked my father to be a candidate for Alex's magical guardianship." After what she had done for them, it was the least she could do on that front, really. The chances of success were more problematic. House MacDougal and House Potter had no blood ties and that was what the Ministry regarded first. "And we bought Tisiphone from the South Americans before she was sent to the menagerie."

The gigantic bat had accomplished its heroic mission, Morag was not going to abandon her like that.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to have this bat on British soil?"

The second-year Ravenclaw snickered.

"The bat should be the least of your troubles. Alex was always more dangerous than Tisiphone..."

* * *

 **14 April 1993** , **Hogwarts, Scotland**

Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Most Noble House of Malfoy, was fuming in anger as he walked towards the library to search for the Potions Book he would need for his latest homework. The day was almost over thankfully, but it had been bad.

No, not bad. The day had been a disaster. Since the day the Daily Prophet and the rest of the British newspapers were calling 'the Battle of the Chamber of Secrets', whatever power and influence the Slytherins had been able to wield over the non-Slytherins had disappeared in less time than it took to unlock a door. The Slytherin Auror squad had been removed. Dumbledore was back, though there was still a commission watching his moves. The fear which had been increasingly present in the corridors, halls and classrooms had disappeared. Most of the Prefects supporting the cause had been suspended. House Slytherin's reputation had not survived the events of the battle. The peerless Boy-Who-Lived had opened his mouth the moment he was out of the infirmary, then Black and the Weasleys had confirmed each of his words. The domination of the pure-blood cause had suffered a tremendous hit.

But it had not stopped there, had it? Longbottom and his cohorts hadn't known everything. The alibis Lewis Wilkes and his band had prepared, how they had attacked at the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match and why. But Potter and her little group of Exiled did. The psychopath of House Ravenclaw had amassed an incredible amount of information and the fact she was at Saint Mungo's had not prevented information from leaking. Her friends, the blood-traitor MacDougal, the Mudblood Granger and the Wolpert squib had given many interviews to the Irish and foreign papers. There had been far more than enough evidence to show Wilkes, Carrow, Miller, Nairne, Rosier and the others had been guilty of crimes sufficient to send them at Azkaban until the end of their lives. And the blonde-haired Heir was sure not all information had been published. Potter's friends had to know not every Slytherin involved in the conspiracy had been killed. Draco knew, because Rosier had borrowed from him a few texts which were quite illegal. Theo Nott had also been involved. There had been 'gifts' of Death Eater robes and masks brought to Hogwarts by diverse secret tunnels no non-Slytherin had ever discovered.

It had gone quite downhill from there. Potter was going to get away with her crimes, the Slytherins she had murdered having all casted at one time or another Unforgivables in Death Eater robes. Draco hadn't known about this series of laws from the last war...but Alexandra Potter evidently did. He had believed it was only a momentary reverse. His father had encouraged him to maintain a low profile as he was forced out of his post from the Board of Governors by Dumbledore and his cronies.

But he had not expected Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini to intervene this morning in the Common Room. The two of them had apparently spoken with the blood-traitor MacDougal last evening, and now there were new marching orders. House Slytherin was going to cease its open allegiance to the pure-blood cause...or else. Draco had laughed and told Greengrass she wasn't serious. The Heiress of House Greengrass had answered by hexing him and delivering a diatribe where she insulted the entire cause and told him to stop being an imbecile. 'Alexandra Potter will kill us all' had been the main argument of her speech...and to his horror it had worked. Flint had agreed and in ten minutes all the upper years had more or less agreed they would stop bothering the Mudbloods and the Blood-Traitors. It was unconscionable. It was treason against the Dark Lord. And unfortunately as the son of Narcissa Malfoy knew in his heart, it was the right move. The Ravenclaw witch was perfectly able to come back and massacre them in their sleep. She would probably be sent to Azkaban afterwards but the Slytherins would still be dead.

It was a bad day and it hadn't improved. Greengrass had prepared well her affair and taken the leadership of the second-years. The Carrow Twins –which now were far closer to the Ladyship after their elder brother's demise - Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle had decided to follow her and she had already Davis and Zabini to her side. The first years were also drinking her assurances like Butterbeer and he was disgusted his cousin Lyre was among them. With Vaisey dead, that left only Theodore Nott, Pansy and him to form an opposition. The Nott Heir had proven he was more an enemy than he was an ally this year and Pansy was growing increasingly distant after the Heir's death had been announced.

Draco tightened his fists in genuine anger. Pure-bloods were the superior wizards and witches. Magic was their birthright, their legacy and their due. Half-bloods and Mudbloods had to be shown their place! It was the natural order of the world! Why weren't these idiots of teachers and students able to understand it? Dumbledore was ruining everything! He was destroying their customs and their culture!

Draco was so busy raging against the unfairness of the whole situation he didn't see the three figures coming out a secret passage behind a painting.

"Malfoy, we need to talk."

The son of Lucius Malfoy cringed in frustration. The day was getting worse and worse. Longbottom, Black and Weasley were blocking his way and he had not Crabbe and Goyle with him. The Golden Trio had not drawn their wands, but since he was alone there was no need to.

"We haven't anything to talk about, Longbottom."

"Oh, I disagree." The visage of the Boy-Who-Lived was very smug. "Is the name Dobby familiar to you?"

The first thought of the second-year Slytherin was what an idiot he had been to speak with his father of the Chamber of Secrets with his father while his father's House Elves were present. The second was how stupid Longbottom was to reveal his source of information from the start. Knowledge was like power; you had to keep it well and use it when it hurt your enemy the most.

"It is one of my mother's House Elves I think." Draco feigned disinterest. Really the small creature was not to be trusted at all and sold at the first opportunity. "It is one of the young ones we got from Aunt Walburga. He is completely mad...he wants to punish himself at every opportunity. Why? What did he do this time?"

The answer did not come from the Longbottom Heir however but from the Weasel. By Merlin and Morgana, Draco always wondered how two prestigious Heirs tolerated this idiot. It was further proof of the decadence of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom.

"Don't play games, Malfoy! We know it was your father who provoked the entire Chamber affair!"

And here it came. It was a straightforward accusation from the red-haired loud-mouthed menace, like his father had warned him.

"Where is the evidence, then?"

"We have Dobby's testimony." Leo Black told him as the Weasel fumed in anger next to him. "We know it was him who blocked the gate at King's Cross and enchanted the Bludgers during the Quidditch Match. We know it was your father who put the Dark Diary in Ginny's cauldron."

Draco was instantly relived at those words. They had nothing. But it was logical indeed. If they had something against Father, Dumbledore would have already presented it in front of the whole Wizengamot.

"In other words Black, you have nothing. House Elves' testimonies are not accepted in court and even if there were, Dobby would never be considered a reliable witness."

"We have seen the Diary in the Chamber!" Seriously the son of Arthur Weasley should try the basics of Occlumency, if only for anger management. Mother had not wanted to teach him last summer because he was too young, but the Weasley looked like he really needed it.

Draco fought back a pinch of jealousy at the idea a Weasley had seen the secret hideout of their Great Founder before replying.

"And where is the Diary now?" The three Gryffindors expressions were amusing to contemplate. Ah, the whispers of the Hogwarts rumour mill were accurate then. According to the goblins experts, the terrible fight between the Exiled Queen and the second Basilisk had destroyed the wards protecting the Chamber and sunk it beneath the Black Lake. And the Diary had disappeared with it. "Somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets, I take it."

The Weasel opened again his mouth, his face redder than a tomato but the Black Hair spoke faster than him.

"This is not a game, Malfoy. Your father used a very Dark artefact and we have enough evidence to convince the rest of the Light Houses. Maybe Malfoy Manor will see a few Auror investigations in the foreseeable future..."

It was a bit pitiful, really. Malfoy Manor had been searched from the vaults to the roof by entire squads of Aurors five times this year alone according to Mother – and they were not yet in June. Did they really think House Malfoy was keeping valuable things in the manor after these raids?

"Is that all?" asked Draco, letting disinterest show over his face. "I have a Potions essay to write and a Library book to give back."

"Do you really think you are going to get away with these excuses with Potter and the rest of the Grey?" The way the Boy-Who-Lived snarled these words made Draco take a step back. It was nothing on the other hand compared to the fear he felt at the idea of explaining to the murderous Ravenclaw his House's culpability. "Sell Dobby to me, pay a large reparation to the students who were petrified and I will protect you from Potter's wrath."

The question had had Draco terribly worried. The half-order half-proposition amused him and he chuckled. Did Longbottom really think he was that stupid? Dobby knew too many secrets to be freed from House Malfoy's service like this. But it was the last part which was completely ridiculous. In two years, it had become quite obvious Albus Dumbledore himself had failed to control the Potter Heiress. The Headmaster was Potter's magical guardian and despite his well-known reluctance against shedding the blood of wizards and witches, Potter had killed five Slytherins. The Basilisk-slayer would listen to the three members of her group and maybe Flitwick because the half-goblin was her Head of House. No one else would have a chance and the old fool was never patrolling in the corridors. His 'protection' was worth nothing.

"Only MacDougal, Granger and Wolpert can protect someone from Potter's wrath, Longbottom. You have no influence with her and I think the Exiled Queen might be a bit mad at you for letting her fight alone against a Basilisk. Now get out of my way before Professor Snape comes and begin to remove the thousand points Dumbledore gave you for exploits you did not do."

The two Gryffindors Heirs seethed with anger but stopped blocking the way. The Weasel however stayed in the middle of a corridor.

"This is not over! We will find proof and your father will pay!"

"Good luck." Arthur Weasley rarely managed to find anything to convict a minor House in the Wizengamot and as long as the Weasel warned him like this, Draco was not exactly worried. "But you should try something easier for the rest of the year. Like supporting your Quidditch team and hope they won't lose the Cup again..."

* * *

 **15 April 1993, Durmstrang**

The brown-haired witch was trying to cram a few more pieces of sweet bun in her stomach when the mail came and didn't turn her attention to the packages the other tables were receiving. In a few hours there was a Dark Arts and Duelling session combined in one class, and she had a feeling she would need all her forces. Plus it wasn't like there was a need to caress her owl or give her a treat.

Unlike in some European schools of lesser standing, Durmstrang High Masters had long decided it was neither intelligent nor healthy to welcome owls and other birds to the tables where the students were eating their breakfasts. After a few months of animated debate, a decision had been made close to a century ago. The owls arriving with their mail would be received in a special room close to the Owlery, with one of the Professors regularly monitoring the wards to ensure the letters and the boxes were not tampered or altered in any way. At least with this method, the risk of cursed material provoking a disaster in the presence of hundreds of young witches and wizards was completely averted. If things went bad, only the owl transporting the problematic item would be incinerated by the defences of Durmstrang.

It solved the problem of sanitation but not the mail distribution. Durmstrang was mostly an underground castle – a direct consequence of their Nordic location. The student quarters, the classes and the Hall of Onyx where the students took their meals were several hundred metres below the Owlery. Students did not wait long before protesting that the current arrangement was not practical, as they lost one hour every day to check whether their parents had written or not to them.

Diverse alternatives had been put in place, until the Dark Arts Professor of the time, an ill-tempered Professor answering to the name of Igor Makarov, had proposed that the last student of every year's rankings received the 'honour' of being the courier every morning to his fellow students. Punishments, penalties and diverse loss of privileges were nothing new at Durmstrang, and the measure had been rapidly implemented and become very popular. Well, except for the students who received awful grades but it wasn't possible to please everyone.

When the 'volunteer' postman arrived to the place Astrid Sverre was devouring a large slice of bread and apricot jam, a middle-sized envelope larger than the averages one was respectfully placed before her. The dark-haired student looked dead on his feet, but at least he had remembered the Duelling session was today. He didn't wish to anger her and earn himself a vengeful beating on the duel platforms.

As the dead last continued his assignment, Astrid regarded the large envelope with suspicion. It was her mother's writing all right but her parents had already sent her their congratulations for her first place in the Transfiguration project five days ago. Why would they send a new letter now? She dearly hoped it wasn't one more invitation to one of those balls and dancing-political matchmaking sessions...

But no as the content of the brown envelope was revealed, the heiress of House Sverre discovered it was just a newspaper and not the high-quality ones she used to read when she was back home during the holidays. The _Daily Prophet_. The British government-controlled paper also known as a sad excuse for a joke and something no wizard or witch at Durmstrang would be caught with. Why had her mother-?

Her eyes fell on the first page...and Astrid could not stop a gasp.

 **TERROR AT HOGWARTS**

 **STUDENT KILLS TWO BASILISKS**

The picture following the large headline was making commentaries rather superfluous. Next to the bleeding corpse of a Basilisk, a dark-haired girl was holding a sword, acclaimed by a group of goblins. A girl Astrid had met not so long ago at a Black family meeting.

"Lady Cassiopeia was quite lucky that day, wasn't she?" She whispered to herself. She had not the time to finish reading. Magic tore the paper out of her hands.

"Hey!" Snarled Astrid before stopping when she realised who had used the Summoning Charm on the table next to her. Long and superb blonde hair, green eyes, pale lips and a complexion beautiful to the degree that many thought she had Veela blood in her veins.

This girl was Lyudmila Romanov, also known by the nickname of Dark Queen amongst the students body. Protesting or fighting back against her was a lost cause. This girl was crushing seventh-years with five times Astrid's power in ten seconds.

"Interesting," The pale visage of the most powerful fifth-year did not show any emotions after reading the first page. "She's your cousin?"

"Distant cousin, yes,"

"Hogwarts may not be a complete lost cause." The little chuckle had no joy behind it. "Send a letter of congratulations to...Alexandra Potter. Tell her I will follow her next exploits with attention."

Whispers spread around the table and Astrid shivered. Lyudmila had never congratulated anyone in public before at Durmstrang. Perhaps her closest rival last year had been given a nod or two of respect...just before she sent him permanently to a long-term hospital ward six months ago.

"Sure."

She would send the letter; she was not stupid enough to disobey the Dark Queen's wishes. And Astrid would add a word or two of warning to her cousin. For better or for worse, Alexandra had managed to gain the kind of fame it was best to achieve when you were on your death bed.

 _But if the rumours of inter-school challenges are true, the next years aren't going to be boring_.

* * *

 **16 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

Annabeth Blackford was deathly afraid. Two weeks before, her status in House Slytherin had been all but assured. The third-year Slytherin girl had been included in the ranks of those deemed worthy by the Heir of Slytherin to cleanse Hogwarts from the Mudbloods and the Blood-Traitors. With time, the Heiress of House Blackford had been convinced her family would be able to restore their power, wealth and influence.

All of this had been shattered in a single day. No, not a single day. A single minute. Wilkes and Miller had been so confident they could handle anyone, even Alexandra Potter. Well, they had been completely and utterly wrong. No matter how long she would live, Annabeth would remember the tide of red-green lightning embracing the DADA corridor, the sheer amount of power burning the air and the screams of agony of Lewis and Jared as magic destroyed them.

Annabeth had run away. Second year or not, their opponent was just not in her league. Maybe the Monster would deal with the Exiled Queen. Or the Heir would kill her. But not her. Annabeth had fled to the Slytherin Common Room, burned the Death Eater robes of her grandfather, removed the initiation Dark Mark and tried to ignore the accusing looks coming from half of Slytherin House.

Hours later, the teachers had come and her cowardly attitude had proven to be the correct course of action. The Heir of Slytherin was dead. The Herald had been revealed to be a possessed girl who was examined by the Healers of Saint Mungo's. The Heir's monsters – two millenary-old Basilisks no less – had been slain. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague were detained by the DMLE. Lewis Wilkes, Jared Miller, William Rosier, Byron Vaisey and Oliver Nairne had not survived. In fact, Dermot Ardoch and she were the only followers of the Heir to have escaped with their reputation and lives more or less intact.

The Chamber of Secrets was gone, destroyed forever. The cause they had spent so many hours championing had crumbled like a castle with rotten foundations. Annabeth had to wake up each night from nightmares of lightning where eyes the colour of the Killing Curse stalked her. And she had to live with the certainty her continued freedom was in the hands of her fellow Slytherins. One word, one accusation and Annabeth would be dosed with Veritaserum. From there, it would be a one-way ticket for Azkaban.

She had begun to lose weight these last days. Her food tasted like ashes and she winced every time a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw met her eyes with disgust. House Slytherin had never had the best reputation before the attacks started but now it had become worse. Considerably worse.

They had been promised a political scheme which would ridicule Dumbledore and restore the power of the Dark. In the end, it had been all lies. The rest of the school did not want their ideas. Nine-tenths of the non-Slytherin students did not want to speak a single word to them. The Lions were spitting and demanding to change place when they were sharing a class with them. Even Professor Snape had ceased defending them. Their Head of House had been petrified by one of the Basilisks and had seen their participation in this disaster as an utmost betrayal. The Potions Master had not denounced them, but they had been warned his protection and his guidance were over, since apparently 'these dunderheads of Lions are geniuses compared to my Snakes'.

The arrival of Marcus Flint on the opposite seat forced her momentarily to stop brooding.

"You look awful, Blackford."

"And you look like a troll, Flint." She replied acidly. The Quidditch Captain had never been one of the fiercest supporters of the Heir and now that the affair was over, Marcus was left as one of the leaders of Slytherin House, for all the good it did to him after so many deaths and such a loss of prestige.

"You should eat something," advised the big sixth-year. "Starving yourself is not going to help things."

"Perhaps," It was difficult to eat however when she knew she could be dragged to prison at any moment. Watching Flint read some diagrams he had taken from his bag, Annabeth tried to have a normal conversation to preserve the illusion nothing was wrong. "Quidditch strategies?"

"Yeah," Marcus looked in deep thought. "Most of them are completely useless now of course." The Blackford Heiress felt a point of guilt. Montague had been one of the three Chasers and Warrington had been the Chaser replacement. With both suspended for the rest of the school year, the team had received a serious blow. And it didn't factor in the fact that Draco Malfoy had proven unable to win against his 'rival' the Boy-Who-Lived with a superior broom.

"You have thought about organising new try-outs?"

"I have, but there are not many candidates-"

The conversations died in an instant in the Great Hall and Annabeth turned her head towards the entrance to see what was provoking such agitation. Then she blanched. Marching in long strides between panicked students, was the girl who was tormenting her in her nightmares since their last confrontation.

Alexandra Potter, the Exiled Queen.

The second-year Ravenclaw looked in good shape. If she had any scars or permanent damage from her confrontation against the Kings of the Snakes, it sure by Morgana wasn't visible. Her black robes were flowing freely and she had a sword fixed on her back. According to the rumours, this was the cursed blade of Mordred.

The silence was deafening. Apparently no one knew how to react. The Potter Heiress clicked with her tongue and drew her wand, pointing it directly at the great banner of Ravenclaw House. And before their incredulous eyes, the symbol of a raven tripled in size before animating and engaging a fight against a colossal representation of a Basilisk. And after ten seconds, the raven tore apart the head of the snake.

"Hey Hogwarts...I'm back!"

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses burst into applause and cheers. At the Head Table, Flitwick, Snape, Sprout and many Junior Professors applauded too. Yes, they had completely lost.

* * *

 **17 April 1993, Somewhere in the Desert, Egypt**

The temple had long been abandoned and its memory lost to time. The wizards who had built it had intended it to be their main stronghold but an ambitious rival faction had organised their collective assassination and declared it a fitting mausoleum for their greatness. Alas for their grand plans of world domination – a world which was at that time reduced to the Nile valley – they had gone to war less than ten years later and perished there. Their heirs had battled each other for whatever scraps of power and lore they had been able to recover but this place wasn't part of it.

Far from the trade roads, under wards the common wizard would scratch his head in consternation should he discover them, no wizard, witch, goblin or intrepid adventurer of the Antiquity really had the wish to cross the terrible sandstorms surrounding it the better part of the year. During the Crusades, some unscrupulous knights and their enemies had enquired on possible treasures but here again the temple-mausoleum had been ignored. There were monuments closer and less difficult to access. After all, if you wanted to pillage something, you had to take it back with you and the first part of the trip was hard enough to kill camels and most of the local fauna.

In the last decades, things had started to change. Several goblin clans had joyously started their own enterprises of tomb-raiding and the human governments, magical or non-magical, had followed or preceded them with enthusiasm and greed in their eyes. Between 1970 and 1993, the temple buried under the sands had been visited six times by precisely twenty-eight humans, nine goblins, a cat and a mongoose. The cat and the mongoose had managed to survive the first series of traps and flee. For the wizards, archaeologists and goblins, this place had been their tomb. The ancient Egyptian wizards and witches had not been shy on security.

The seventh expedition had not that kind of problem. Though to be accurate, it was not an 'expedition' to begin with. A cloud of darkness surrounding a shadowy figure, an unnatural event absorbing the light of the terrible sun, had appeared from nowhere in the middle of the dunes. From there nothing had been able to stop the progression of the intruder. Lethal wards having waited for hundreds of years were dismantled by a click of fingers. The arrows, boulders and various projectiles dispensed to reduce raiders into paste were levitated away. The runic traps and enigmas forming a labyrinth of themselves were resolved in six minutes while its creators had hoped to trap enemies for hours in it. Bridges and paths which had collapsed under the weight of the years or collapsed to entomb intruders were restored to their initial state. Pits where the most dangerous snakes, scarabs and crocodiles had survived by eating themselves were avoided despite formidable tornado-creating wards.

At no moment had the King of the Exchequer bothered using a magical wand.

The walk-over was finished when the darkness-covered figure entered a hall. A simple glance was enough to realise this place had been far more prepared to resist the assaults of time than the rest of the complex. Great pillars carved with temporal wards and stasis experimental processes. Stone of the highest quality had been used, with superb decorations painted by artists worthy of working in the Pharaoh's service. But it was obviously incomplete. Between the pillars and the arcades there was no tomb, no great throne fit for a monarch or anything to indicate the function of this place.

The wizard raised his hand and incanted a powerful revealing spell able to dispel every illusion and glamour in a range of kilometres. It had no effect whatsoever. The figure of darkness sighed in frustration. It was another dead end.

A swirl of bright darkness came in front of him as he continued to magically scan the building. It was a fully corporeal Ecclesial, the Dark version of the Patronus, one having taken the shape of a gigantic and magnificent Imperial Indian Cobra. An amused female voice came out of its maw.

"I had warned you this temple was a waste of time, Osiris."

"I think I told you it was a private matter, Isis," replied the being of shadows. "This is my quest..."

A fresh laughter echoed in walls having received no human presence for the last couple of millennia.

"And I respect it. But you have to admit...your collection of Egyptian heirlooms and antique weapons has no rival. A tenth of what you have stored in your vaults would suffice to fill all the museums from San Francisco to Cairo. You have also the true Eye of Horus, the Shroud of Anubis-"

"You can give me back the Ankh of Sobek, if you're tired of Egyptian heirlooms, you know."

A chuckle was the only answer.

"What is the reason of your call?"

"The Basilisks which were hidden by Salazar Slytherin under Hogwarts are dead. You know what this means."

"We can begin agitating red flags for Dumbledore's imminent downfall?" The cobra animation wasn't perfect when it came to translating human expressions, but the formidable hiss gave a hint this was not a good answer. The air trembled under the ancient power of the King. "Fine. Take the resources you need and execute Operation Dantès. Tell Knight Summoner to keep the pressure on the goblins and begin training the operatives we need for Operation Paradox, Unity and Bloodbath."

The snake of bright darkness dissipated in black sparks. The cloud of darkness stayed in a perfect state of immobility for a full minute. Then the figure turned around and marched towards the exit. But not before materialising an orb of dark flame and laying a complex trap all over the walls of the ancient temple.

"The Morrigan's Champion has returned...this should be interesting." The chuckle of the oldest being of this world was heard once more. It was not a pleasant sound.

"Come Day of Battle, O Angel of Death. Cast thy lightning and reign over the ashes. Ragnarok."

The King of the Exchequer paused for a few seconds, remembering the Seer who had uttered these words.

"I remember."

And he disappeared in the shadows.

* * *

 **18 April 1993, The Himalayan Redoubt**

Few goblins were aware of this fortress' existence. Officially and unofficially, their race had never tried to make their imprint in this part of the world. The local wizards had been too powerful, too determined to keep the underground race out of their enclaves. Economically, there had already been several banking businesses established here. The goblins had taken one hard look at the current rapport of force and decided to go elsewhere. The rest of the world wasn't exactly lacking places to wage war, rob wand-wielders humans of treasures they didn't deserve and spread their love of gold.

But this fortress existed, though the few humans who had managed to reach the treacherous cliffs where it was built thought it abandoned. Powerful ramparts, fierce towers over the abyss and forges able to equip a legion were devoid of goblin presence –or any living being presence for that matter.

Before the Statute of Secrecy, the humans of the area had regarded it as one more unexplained mystery. Magic could explain a lot of things, and this certainly was one of those.

Their judgement was wrong, although they could be excused for their mistake. The sole and only occupant of the fortress had done its best to convey this very impression.

On a marble seat which looked prodigiously uncomfortable, an old goblin opened his eyes. If any of his race could have seen him, they would have been astonished he had lasted that long. Goblins could live longer than the longest lived wizard, but being long-lived did not mean immortal. And being a warlike species who loved launching conflicts at the flimsiest insult to their honour did not help. In the _Great Book of Ultarik_ , the oldest goblin recorded was Tulkrok the Insatiable and he had died at the venerable age of six hundred and ten years. An anomaly if there ever was one, concluded the sages of the goblin clans.

This particular goblin was far older than the Insatiable at the moment of his death and he still had vitality left in him. Powerful muscles tensed. Merciless eyes watched their surroundings with a resolution rarely seen in this age. There was something different this time, however. There were runes powering up, energy coursed again in the foundations and the ancient ley lines were changing in nature. There was a hint on his tongue, a souvenir of an ancient time he was now the sole surviving guardian of. Something he had never been able to forget in his body and his spirit in a thousand years.

"The Slayer of Kings walks again the earth." A sardonic smile came upon a face which had not showed such feeling for hundreds of years. "At last, my duty will end in a glorious battle."


	42. The Ransom of Glory

**Chapter 42**

 **The Ransom of Glory**

 _Names have powers._

 _I must admit that in my first months inside Hogwarts walls, names and how they influence our world are not something which concerned me greatly. Our first and last names are important of course, but the intricacies of a name is hardly an easy subject and unless your interests lies in obscure combinations of Arithmancy, History, and Astronomy, it is quite likely you will live and die before someone has managed to exploit a weakness in them._

 _But they are other names. Whether they are friendly or antagonistic, they help us divide our surroundings between the people we like and the people we love to hate. On average, you will be called ten thousand names in your life and maybe less than a dozen will stick for more than a week before they are forgotten. In all honesty, they are completely unimportant. Whether you are insulted because your hair is too blond or too dishevelled, your nose is too big or you are not pretty enough will not change anything magically._

 _There is, however, an exception. I am speaking of course, of the Names of Power._

 _Unlike the previous examples, those are incredibly dangerous. I am sure many people will ask undoubtedly the fatal question: Why? After all, calling someone the 'next Merlin' isn't likely to resurrect the aforementioned wizard from his grave._

 _In a way, they are right. Merlin won't suddenly walk into the Ministry because someone is called his equal – it would have happened a few thousand times if it was true._

 _Names don't function that way. They are far more insidious._

 _One of the most infamous Names of Powers by a large margin is without contest the title of 'Dark Lord' - or 'Dark Lady' for witches. In appearance, it is merely a title which proclaims the wizard or the witch in question is ready to commit various abominable crimes to satisfy his thirst for power, blood, and Dark Magic. But minds of wizard and witches are different. When you hear the name 'Dark Lord' being pronounced, the images conjured in your head are those of an incredibly evil and powerful Dark Wizard, leading a horde of lesser Dark Wizards and Witches, followed by countless numbers of monsters and creatures which by no rights should walk in the light of day._

 _Our nightmares and darkest thoughts create these images of Dark Lords. And when one hundred thousand wizards and witches are terrified of a single being, the magical backlash is by no means tiny._

 _The Dark Lord will earn his titles by his awful and horrifying deeds, but it is the minds and hearts of the Wizarding population that will truly give him the crown of Darkness he craves. It is not going to make the Dark Lord more powerful, but by its very nature the Dark Lord will be far more difficult to vanquish._

 _Because in the blazing fires of magic, the Dark Lord will have become something evil with no hope of redemption, a monster to be defeated and the great villain of this story._

 _It will take someone very special to defeat him. Someone having internalised the very values the Dark Lord never had or abandoned at a young age in a quest for power, murder and evil domination._

 _The people will need a Hero of the Light._

 _Prophecies will maybe announce him. Dispirited but valiant warriors will rally to his banner. And in the end, the Dark Lord will fall, defeated by the Just and Fair Hero._

 _Because like in every good story, the Dark may have a few fleeting victories, but the Light will always triumph in the end._

 _Now see the situation at Hogwarts before my eyes. Replace the words 'Dark Lord' with 'Heir of Slytherin' – a Founder which in many stories is best known for his excessive passion for Dark and Evil Magic. Substitute 'Hero' by 'Boy-Who-Lived', a title given to a young boy for his defeat of a powerful Dark Lord at the tender age of one year old. The Professors are unable to stop the attacks, the Leader of the Light is suspended due to low political feuds and the situation seems desperate._

 _Does it not sound like the prelude to a climatic fight in the Heir's Lair, the infamous and never discovered Chamber of Secrets?_

 _Call it the will of magic, protest it as a coincidence and the result of events nobody could have predicted; the result is the same._

 _Names of Power and Fate are playing their game._

 _Hogwarts teachers may have forgotten to teach their students the most elementary precautions in the last century, but magic doesn't care. Like Gellert Grindelwald became the Dark Lord of Nurmengard despite his heavy propaganda to portray himself as the Master of Death, this entire affair became a tale of young Heroes fighting the Darkness threatening their school._

 _A question remains however. If the Boy-Who-Lived is the Hero and the Heir of Slytherin the Villain, what is the role of the Exiled Queen in the story to come?_

Extract from _The_ _Fall of Slytherin's Heir_ , Chapter 32, by Gilderoy Lockhart.

* * *

 **24 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

If she had known how much paperwork this entire affair was going to create, Alexandra swore on everything she possessed that she would have seriously considered fleeing Hogwarts after the first attack and let the rest of the Wizarding World deal with their little Basilisk problem. The amount of parchment she had to deal with had grown to a small mountain in the last few days and it was showing no sign of stopping.

As a result, while she wanted nothing better than to go watch the Quidditch rematch between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff this Saturday afternoon, the black-haired second year was staying in her study room, dealing with the uncountable letters and official issues killing two Basilisks and several Slytherin students had made. To be honest, this was worse than a day full of History classes.

Morag and Nigel had rushed out to see the Quidditch match, wishing to avoid this monumental chore for a few hours. Consequently, it left Grimjaw, Hermione and Alexandra in the room, along with the hundreds of letters, Ministry papers and thank-you packages. From time to time, a goblin came to take the forms and the new letters which had to be sent elsewhere. And hour after hour –they had started very early in the morning and had only stopped for lunch – the piles decreased in height and width. Perhaps they would deal with this eternally-damned paperwork before the weekend was over. Or perhaps not. There was more arriving each morning. By the looks of things, apart from a few hermits on Pacific islands no one had visited in a decade, every wizard or witch in the world had heard rumours of what had happened inside Hogwarts walls.

The 'simple' letters were the easiest to get rid of. The common magical people were writing to thank her of killing the Basilisks, she was writing back a polite letter thanking them for their support. The main issue with those was that there were hundreds of the damned things.

The second category of the torrent of correspondences could be classed under the name 'Ministry and Gringotts bureaucracy'. For reasons which were evident to anyone understanding the relationships between humans and goblins, the Ministry and the London branch of Gringotts were not fond of each other, and it seemed the goblins were extremely happy to bury the authorities in a sea of useless information. Unfortunately for her, Alexandra was in the middle of this and Grimjaw was not eager to spare her this fate. Several months passed avoiding her Senior Accountant were now coming back with a vengeance.

Thirdly, there were the persons she had never met before today but for some strange reason wanted something from her. It went from marriage contracts – despite the fact that being twelve years old, it was completely illegal – to the support of new Ministry laws. The hypocrisy and arrogance contained in these letters gave her the urge to vomit. Plenty of names she had no idea existed before today, but in a few sentences they had earned a place on her 'do-not-befriend or ally with' list.

Fourth, there were the awards and the gifts. Grimjaw and a company of Gringotts curse-breakers had already destroyed the cursed artefacts, poisons, and other traps sent her way – surprisingly only half were anonymous, meaning there was going to be a huge ruckus in the future – but the sheer number of presents was so big it was like Dudley's Christmas had come for her a bit in advance.

A month ago, Alexandra's main and only title had been 'Heiress Potter'. Now the succession of imbecilities Lockhart had presented for himself in his 'fraud persona' seemed small in comparison to her official address.

Alexandra Victoria Potter, Heiress Potter, Order of Merlin Second Class, International Wizarding Order of Merit Platinum Standard (International Confederation of Wizards), Order of Bayard First Class (France), Order of the Wand-Cross First Class (Germany), Order of the Fiery Bear First Class (Russia), Silver Shooting Star (UMAS), Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, Junior Honorary member of the Monster-Hunter Guild of Durmstrang, Grand Basilisk-Slayer (ICW), Slayer of Death (Transylvania), Battle-Master of the Eternal Army (Mongolia) and these were just for the titles standing out. There were probably more waiting in the unopened messages.

On the financial side of things, she had received scores of books on a variety of topics, many of them quite illegal to own in the British Isles, two sets of armour in dragon scales, three broomsticks, several daggers, ten mini-cauldrons and two large ones, four hats, a horrid sweater, three sets of antique robes and countless things she probably would never use in her day-to-day life. The illegal goods were going to Vault 72, the Potter's family vault, before the Ministry had a clue they were in her possession. The rest...the useless things she would probably give to charity organisations and the useful gifts would be shared with her friends.

Killing two Basilisks had given her a mountain of money. In gifts, she had received two thousand and six hundred Galleons four Sickles and three Knuts, all going to Vault 869, her Trust Vault. But this was nothing compared to the sums filling Vault 517, or as she had started to call it, the Conquest/Dowry Vault. The venom of the two Kings of Snakes had given her two hundred and eighty-eight thousand Galleons. The blood, the flesh, the scales and the bones Alexandra had authorised to be sold –nearly four-fifths of the quantities available – was worth seven hundred and thirty-three thousand Galleons after Gringotts and the Ministry had taken their fair share of taxes. According to Grimjaw, this was fairly common as in this life nothing was certain but war, death and payments extorted after the looting. The green-eyed Ravenclaw had no choice but to bow to the goblin's long experience.

This battle against the XXXXX-class creature had created a huge number of problems and in all likelihood made her dozen of enemies. But at least she would have no gold issues for the rest of her life, assuming she managed to get her House seat and get married in the future. Vault 517 alone contained over a million Galleons. She would never be forced to throw herself at the feet of an employer because she had no means to pay an apartment's rent. In fact, she had probably enough gold and silver to build her own Manor once she was of age.

"This one is from the Great Priesthood of Kemet, the Custodians of Ancient Egypt treasures," spoke Hermione in a tired voice. The Gryffindor had been excited like her in the morning, but all traces of enthusiasm had fled hours ago as the parchment mountain diminished at a snail's pace. "Their leader, a certain Semerkhet of the Osiris Cult, congratulates Heiress Potter for her most impressive victory and gives her...an ankh of gold?"

Grimjaw left his seat to open an average package, revealing indeed one of these ancient symbols of Egyptian royalty. By the weight of it once she had it in her hand, Alexandra figured it was probably pure gold...and it had been blessed in a complicated ritual to give good luck and prosperity. An incredibly generous gift, of this there was no doubt. Sighing, Alexandra took her best quill and began to write an answer on how she appreciated this magical present.

Once she had finished, the big vulture which had brought the letter took it and flew away. Satisfied one more was out of the way, she read the next message.

"From the Potioneer Guild of Greece...blah, blah, blah...a necklace of snake fangs," evidently the wizards had not collected Basilisk fangs for this one, but it really wasn't something she was going to wear in public. For all she knew, the senders had wanted to get rid of their old things. These were not exactly like the kind of gifts one offered to a girl.

And it was like this, over and over again.

"From the Academy of the Unseen Antilles..."

Whatever banal introduction formula had been about to be told would remain a mystery for a couple of minutes as the door of their refuge opened in full to reveal Morag MacDougal. For a match where Ravenclaw wasn't one of the teams playing, her red-haired friend had a large smile.

"Still not finished?"

"We could have finished earlier," Alexandra grunted. "But half of my minions decided to flee cowardly and abandon me against the endless tide of parchment..."

Her Ravenclaw friend just laughed, showing no sign of culpability. Nigel entered the room seconds later, followed closely by Lyre de Male-Foi. Judging by the satisfied smile of the young Slytherin, it didn't take great Seer powers to know the final result of the match.

"Gryffindor lost, didn't they?"

But Morag nodded negatively.

"It was a draw," chanted the Ravenclaw with the happiness of someone who had just won an important bet. "Diggory caught the Golden Snitch, final score was 180-180."

The dark-haired Ravenclaw snickered.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen..."

For the last couple of days, the entire Gryffindor House had behaved like their victory was assured and were openly wondering if they could win by a margin of four hundred points. Well, this haughtiness had been punished in a splendid manner. The red and gold 'heroes' may have won the House Cup thanks to the thousand points Dumbledore had given them, but they had certainly destroyed their chance to win the Quidditch Cup here.

"Longbottom was disadvantaged by the force of the wind and the Hufflepuff team had imagined a fine strategy to prevent him from taking the Snitch," affirmed Lyre in her soft and cultured voice. "Diggory was less hampered by the gusts and his Chasers were supporting him."

In hindsight, it was logical for Hufflepuff to adopt this kind of tactic. Gryffindor had been able to destroy them in mere minutes before the match was interrupted due to the attack of the Heir. The Lion trio of Chasers were too good and too experienced. On the other hand, it had almost failed and she had the feeling this playing scenario would happen only once in an entire scholarship.

"Diggory must have caught the eye of the recruiters with this game," the Ravenclaw absently commented, replying at the same time to a committee of guildsmen based in Canada.

"More than Wood did, for sure," approved the MacDougal Heiress. "He could do nothing for the three goals the Badgers scored and everyone heard him yelling at the end of the match."

"How tragic," gritted Hermione between her teeth. The words she spoke implied exactly the contrary. The bushy-haired Gryffindor had never been –and probably never would be – a Quidditch enthusiast, but her distaste for certain members of Gryffindor House had intensified in the past few days.

Morag, Nigel, and Lyre took their seats around the table, and Alexandra finished the documentation posed on it before speaking to her Senior Accountant.

"We are going to take a break now, Grimjaw," she informed the old goblin. "Could you please bring me the rings?"

"Of course, Heiress Potter," grunted the representative of Gringotts. A small wooden box was grabbed from behind a pile of letters and was placed on the table, before the small non-human marched out and closed the door.

"What is in this box?" asked Nigel with curiosity.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" replied the Potter Heiress, briefly standing and moving the box in front of him before retaking her seat. As the Gryffindor opened it, a gasp came to his lips.

"These are..."

"Gemstones with rings of Basilisk bone."

Nigel turned the box for the rest of her friends to watch, showing the five rings to their eyes. Ordinarily, Alexandra could not have paid for them but since she had received many jewels as gifts and the only supply of Basilisk bone this decade, the second-year witch had concluded she might use it to her benefit. A little help (and a large fee) from Gringotts, and the rings had been ready. Two of the rings were embedded with rubies, one had a large emerald, the fourth had a sapphire and the last shone with a magnificent diamond.

"These will be the proof that we are the founders of our organisation."

"So the Exiled Army is really going to come into existence..." murmured Lyre, her pale fingers touching the sapphire ring.

The blonde-haired French witch had changed a lot from the day Alexandra and Nigel had met her inside the book shop of Diagon Alley. Lyre had progressively abandoned in private her haughty arrogance and her allusions to pure-blood superiority. But then she was forced to spend hours each day in the presence of Slytherins who didn't know which side of their wand had to be pointed in the target's direction. After the fall of the Heir, Lyre had become happier and calmer. The fact that the Snake's Den was becoming a less dangerous place to live in was a factor in this.

"Let's face it, our alliance has already faced its first battle," declared Alexandra in a sombre tone. "The Heir and his Monsters could have really killed us but we won thanks to a good plan, a resourceful intelligence network and of course plenty of luck." In the meantime, Hermione and Nigel took the two ruby rings, Lyre took the sapphire and Morag the diamond, leaving Alexandra with the emerald ring. She placed it on the middle finger of her right hand, the left already possessing her Heiress ring.

"That and two of us are really going to be exiled by the end of the year." There was no amusement in Morag's voice. Given Hermione and Nigel's gloomy faces, there was no need to ask who was at risk.

"Longbottom and his friends really voted a Motion of Dismissal, then." Lyre's eyes were incredibly cold. "After how many points you won for them, Hermione..."

"I don't think House Points were considered when they made this decision," growled Alexandra, trying to resist the temptation of crushing the quill she had in her left hand.

It was in great part her fault, she had to admit. Nigel and Hermione had been severely ostracised by the rest of the Lions during first and second year. They didn't conform to the brainless charge-first mentality of the Gryffindors, and they had friendships outside the Lion Common Room. Accusations and petty bullying had happened so many times it was not a coincidence.

But this deplorable behaviour had been nothing compared to the new situation after the Basilisk affair. Alexandra had killed many students along with the Basilisk, and suddenly an overwhelming majority of the Gryffindors were convinced anew she was the next Dark Lady and potentially a rival for Voldemort himself. Needless to say, anybody associated to one extent or another with her was vilified and insulted. The Boy-Who-Lived and his accomplices had begun a very threatening campaign to convince their own House she was a mortal danger to their well-being. And the worst part was that it was working.

"I should have let Longbottom die against the Basilisk..." The green-eyed witch growled before sighing when met with the four amused pairs of eyes of her friends. "Oh, fine. I do not think our Lord and Saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived, deserves death, but he's an ungrateful and spoilt imbecile who needs a good lesson of humility. As far as I am concerned, the debt between House Potter and House Longbottom was paid in the Chamber of Secrets."

She did not add the point that Neville Longbottom had not liked this at all when she had let the rumour spread at breakfast days ago.

"Alex, there would have been a Motion of Dismissal one way or another," Hermione said in a sad but determined voice. "We have no friends and Neville is just one of our most vocal opponents, not the only one."

"Have they managed to obtain the required votes?" The question came from Lyre. Hermione shrugged to convey that she had no idea.

"There were plenty of signatures on the roll they presented us last morning..."

A Motion of Dismissal to expel a student from his House was not an easy act. You needed the approval of two-thirds of the Prefects and three-quarters of the House students. There were long and ancestral procedures to complete. There were the power-makers of the Lions to listen to, the politics and the doctrine of the Houses represented to take into account.

But with the future Lord of House Longbottom leading the charge and the pride of the Lions eager to pardon themselves from the whole accusations 'he is a Parselmouth and the Heir of Slytherin', it was the votes which mattered. Four Prefects and over eighty students needed to vote in favour of the Dismissal Motion. Alexandra knew Percy Weasley had voted against, as did the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan. But this was not enough to form a valid counter, oh no.

"They must have the votes," concluded Morag. "The outcome is in McGonagall's hands."

No student, after all, could be dismissed without the assent of the Head of House. It was something that had in all likelihood saved her in first year from her fellow Ravenclaws. Flitwick would not have taken this lightly, favourite student or not. But this was Gryffindor. McGonagall – she hesitated to qualify the woman as a Professor after her monumental incompetence during Dumbledore's suspension – was a pathetic Head of House. The Deputy Head was never taking the defence of her students, visited the Common Room, or made appointments to ensure their academic performance was adequate for their job aspirations.

Worse, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, and Leo Black had had free reign for the better part of two years now. Maybe the Transfiguration Professor would express her disapproval. She might remove a few points and give some detentions. But oppose the leaders of this little coup? The chances of this were infinitesimal.

"I will speak with Flitwick this evening." Judging by the way ink was dirtying her fingers, Morag had not had any restraint when it came to tearing apart her own quill. "I don't think there will be a problem transferring you two into Ravenclaw."

"I will go with you." She had some excuses to present when it came to the entire Basilisk disaster, after all. And when it came to it, Alexandra was more and more convinced transferring Hermione and Nigel to Ravenclaw would benefit her friends. Gryffindor Tower was not a place where the top students thrived. How her mother had managed to get outstanding grades in this madhouse, the daughter of Lily Evans had no idea. "But I don't think Professor Flitwick will refuse." She turned her attention to the Slytherin member of the group. "Any chance you want to transfer too, Lyre?"

There was a second of hesitation before the blonde-haired witch answered.

"No, not for the moment," The left hand of the French girl touched mechanically the snake emblem of her robe. "For better or for worse, Slytherin is a place of power and influence. I need these contacts and you need someone to keep an eye on the Heirs and Heiresses of Dark Houses."

"It will be extremely dangerous." Hermione did not look particularly thrilled by the entire idea. In fact, no one was around the table.

"And fighting two Basilisks and several older students isn't?" Lyre mockingly gasped. Alexandra raised her hands and tried to show an innocent visage, making everyone chuckle. "I will deal with the issues as they come. The Junior Death Eaters have lost much of their influence, prestige and their leaders; there shouldn't be any problems for the rest of this year. Daphne Greengrass is keeping her word for the moment."

"Fine, Fine." Honestly, Alexandra was going to keep one eye on Greengrass, Zabini, and Davis. The two girls and the boy were true Slytherins, which meant they would go with the winning side if another battle occurred.

Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws could be trusted to a point. For example, Alexandra had bribed a Prefect to falsify a few authorisations and give the Weasley Twins instructions to bring Tisiphone in by one of the secret tunnels linking Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. No one had talked, proving there was honourable conduct among thieves. But she couldn't have done this if a Slytherin (who was not Lyre) was involved in the transaction. At the first sign of a storm coming on the horizon, the Snake would have sold them to the Ministry or Dumbledore.

"The usual issues aside, I declare this first war council of the Exiled Army open."

'Exiled Army'. A grand name for a little group, but had not the Fellowship of the Ring provoked the fall of Mordor? In definitive, the strange name could prove a distraction. Enemies would search for an army, while there was in reality nothing of the sort.

"I will retain overall command, the title of Battle-Commander and General of the 1st Division. My responsibilities for the upcoming months will be to kill the threats opposing us, recruiting new members, and training them."

Fortunately, the short-term menaces had been largely reduced with the fall of the Heir of Slytherin – assuming he hadn't been a fake and that a word of what Riddle had said could be trusted, of course. Thinking of new members, there were two candidates at the top of her list: Percival Weasley and Luna Lovegood. The former was serious and was the favourite of the polls for the title of Head Boy next year. The latter was either a crazy girl or a witch with divination aptitudes...either way she would have her place here.

"Morag, you will be the General in charge of the 2nd Division." The red-haired pure-blood parodied a military salute. Alexandra groaned, she really was a bad influence on her friend. "Your focus will be on Wizengamot and Houses politics, Quidditch and once we will have a Treasury worthy of the name, you will be in charge of it."

"Hermione, you will be the General of the 3rd Division. You will be our Research and Development commander. You will also be in charge of our library resources and the lore we obtain, borrow, and steal."

The girl who would soon no longer be a Gryffindor nodded in agreement without a protest. Her task was more or less perfect for her.

"Nigel, you will be the General of the 4th Division. Your official title will be...Master of Propaganda and Education. Your task, if you accept it, will be to convince the sheep of our world to believe we're the nice guys and the rest are bad people."

A few weeks ago, she might have not thought about this. But then by that point former Aurors and DMLE personnel hadn't started sharing their 'reservations' to the journalists of the _Daily Prophet_. She was now often compared to a young Bellatrix Lestrange, the next reincarnation of Morgana La Fay, and a female version of Voldemort and several other killer Death Eaters of the last war. For their sake, she hoped they would not ask her to save the day again. She was not a heroine one could insult one day and beg for help the next.

"But we are the good guys!" protested the new Propaganda Head.

"Yeah, but the wizard and witches of Britain aren't convinced of it..."

And finally Alexandra turned to the girl who soon enough would be the only non-Ravenclaw member of the Exiled.

"Lyre, you will be General of 5th Division. Foreign Affairs and Intelligence gathering will be your primary duties, though it is possible you will help Morag with the politics issues."

Since she had already sounded everyone on the idea for two days, there were no objections. It was no guarantee the task repartition would hold for months, but at least each division commander would have an idea of what the others were supposed to do.

"Please recall for me all the orders of the day, Hermione."

"First, we have the issue of Ginny Weasley, or should I say Scylla Yaxley." The brown-haired girl made a large grimace. "Secondly, we have the possible rebirth of Lord Voldemort." Morag and Nigel both shivered when the Dark Lord's name was pronounced. "Thirdly, there are the escape from Hogwarts plans we must prepare in case we must face an invading army. Fourth, our knowledge and the evidence we have of the organisation calling itself the Exchequer. Fifth..."

* * *

 **27 April 1993, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

Lord Lucius Malfoy was not in a happy state of mind this morning when he entered his office. From the moment he stepped out of the Floo, he had been hounded by a dozen assistants of various departments who wanted him to convince the Minister that his latest decisions were unwise, economically perilous, or outright stupid. While it was flattering that these parchment-crushers believed he had the influence and the power to command Fudge and be obeyed in the next seconds, maybe they should have done their job in the first place. The majority were giving back their reports when it was far too late to change anything or assuring the Minister of their undying support when they were in the same room.

It wasn't his fault the entire Ministry was crumbling under the weight of the bureaucracy and rules nobody truly remembered why they existed or how many generations of Ministry workers had lived with them. It wasn't him who had decided Fudge was going to be a good choice for the job of Minister of Magic. When Fudge had been elected, Lucius had been busy bribing all the officials he could to stay away from Azkaban and in no way able to influence an electoral outcome.

Removing his cloak and his gloves, the Malfoy patriarch glared wrathfully at the mountain of paperwork over his desk. Becoming the ICW representative was already severely curtailing his free time: twice per week he had to take an International Portkey to Geneva and those were days where he was unable to properly meet his Wizengamot 'allies' and organise the opposition to Dumbledore and his self-righteous 'Light'. But he also had to deal with the infernal and inefficient mechanisms of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Given who was the Department Head, Lucius had few people he could rely on – he had already hired two assistants and he would probably hire more before the end of the year. As a result, he was diverting more and more of his Wizengamot duties and the inter-House negotiations to Narcissa. His beloved wife was going to be his deputy for the Wizengamot seat and many necessary activities – not all concerning politics – House Malfoy had to assume the leadership of.

Normally taking the place of the senior ICW representative should have been easier. But these were far from usual circumstances. Half of the twelve-strong ICW British delegation had resigned in protest when Dumbledore had been fired from his position of Supreme Mugwump – the Chief Warlock could trumpet he had resigned of his own will, everyone knew the truth – and they were protesting loudly in the Daily Prophet that the entire endeavour was a "sordid manipulation" and a "dangerous conspiracy" to blame the Defeater of Grindelwald. The other half of the representatives he had fired himself, as it was clear they were Order of the Phoenix cronies. Long he had suspected that the ICW salaries were filling the vaults of the Light-aligned militia; now he was sure of it. It would have been bad if they were competent, but none really had the languages skills or the diplomatic connections to be of any use. The problem was how to fill the vacant positions now. Lords and Ladies among the Conservatives and Traditionalists were isolationists and the Lord of House Malfoy could list the names of three dozen wizards and witches who would deny his offer when asked. British sorcerers' distrust of the ICW had increased after the Grindelwald War and Geneva was rightly considered as a place where a young British wizard or witch's ambition would lead nowhere. Lucius was forced to hire delegates with little experience in international politics and he didn't like it. Oh, and he had to deal with the chaotic outcome of House Rosier's destruction.

The first minutes of his work were spent getting rid of all the day's problems. One member of the cleaning staff had been surprised trying to access Nott's office, in all likelihood the man was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He would be fired with extreme prejudice of course. The expenses of the upcoming Quidditch Cup demanded sixty thousand more Galleons to be found, the ICW inspectors having found several critical security issues. This was dreadful but not unexpected. Decades ago, Britain had been able to build state-of-the-art Manors and fortresses, but this was no longer true. These days they were forced to rely on foreign experts as the Enchanters, Ward-Masters, Alchemists and Artificers were extremely rare...but Fudge had proclaimed the great stadium and the rest of the constructs would be built by 'British experts'. The result was such that they may have to contract German and Norwegian teams before summer because said local builders were not able to work properly...

Lord Lucius Malfoy had just finished reading a long roll explaining how Dumbledore's minions had conceded without a fight twenty-two new measures on cauldron thickness – which meant he could already hear in his head the cries of outrage from the Potioneer Guild – when he saw the large black folder. Levitating the parchment which had half-buried it, the blonde-haired wizard seized it to place it in front of him.

Unlike many official Ministry correspondence and archives, there was just a simple title on it in golden letters.

 **HOGWARTS TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT**

Lucius had known fear more than once in his lifetime – when you were part of the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord in the last months of the war, it could hardly be otherwise – but this simple name gave him shivers. Like every boy or girl having studied at Hogwarts, he had known about this bloody tournament of death. Who didn't? Under the guise of 'befriending students of foreign schools' the Headmasters of the greatest academies of Europe – Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts plus a few others schools depending the centuries – had organised spectacular events where teenagers killed each other or were butchered by XXXXX-class creatures. The Tournament had become a way for the different countries to settle their differences and increase their prestige in an undeclared war. Sometimes it made things worse. The last 1792 Tournament had become legendary (and infamous) for its cockatrice rampage. Hundreds of wizards and witches had died and it had started a monumental conflict on the continent.

Why in the name of the Dark Powers would someone want to bring this abominable bloodbath back? Each time Hogwarts had organised it, the number of deaths had been so high that the recent "Battle of the Chamber of Secrets" he had so unwisely started was a minor incident by comparison.

Fighting against the dread he felt in his bones, the Lord of House Malfoy began to read the files contained in the folder. Several were written by people he knew were working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, including Ludovic Bagman, the Department Head. But dozens were not and it was from them the entire idea had come from. Respectful requests and pleads abounded, some dating as early as 1990. Officially, the idea was coming from Elphias Doge. But the red and gold phoenix seal affixed at the bottom of one low-key parchment gave away the identity of the mastermind behind it. Not that he would have believed anyway that Doge would have acted on his own without clear orders from his master.

That was for the wizards and witches who had at one point participated in this plan. One the Grey and Dark factions had never been communicated the content of. And for good reason, Lucius had to admit. The next yearly budget was already going to be a very ugly beast to say the least, but somehow finding thousands of Galleons for a Tournament they had never been aware of would be the last straw. Hogwarts' treasury was not going to pay for this Tournament; the old Muggle-lover would put all his supporters against this measure.

The further he read, the worse it became. Bagman had dreamed big when the Leader of the Light had demanded him to plan for a resurrection of the Triwizard Tournament, but the former Beater was more renowned for his enormous game debts than his organising talents.

If the Tournament happened like in Bagman recommendations, it would be a very bad joke. There were to be three tasks, a champion for each school and no other competition during the year. The Quidditch season was to be cancelled, since they would use the pitch for two of the three tasks. As the tradition obliged, the champions and the schools would participate in a Yule ball – whose cost alone was sure to empty the Department of Sports budget for several months.

The champions would train for their tasks, but what about the Hogwarts children and the foreign students? By experience, Lucius knew how bad an idea it was to leave young wizards with nothing to do and old feuds to avenge.

And it ignored the fact the three tasks chosen by Bagman were completely unsuitable. The first part with the dragons was acceptable public-wise, although the price of protections able to withstand a dragon assault were not cheap at all. The second and third tasks were not. Magical means existed to watch the exploits of someone by interposed image, but they had never been tested in underwater conditions with multiple wizards and witches. In the end, the public would see exactly nothing.

The Patriarch of House Malfoy sighed and called his lead assistant with a modified music spell his wife had invented a decade ago.

"Call Ludovic Bagman, please. I want to see him in my office as soon as possible."

"Yes, Sir."

The last dozen parchments in the folder were even more concerning, if it was possible. They were the result of various polls and various inquiries in the other schools towards a re-introduction of the Triwizard Tournament. And it was not reassuring at all. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were officially still debating, but an agreement to open negotiations was sure to come in the next weeks.

Dumbledore may very well affirm in front of the Wizengamot this was in the spirit of friendship and international cooperation, but Lucius read the truth in the documentation in front of him. The French had never liked Hogwarts – how could it be when British wizards had waged more conflicts against them than the rest of Europe? As for Durmstrang, the actions of Dumbledore in the last decades had not amused the pro-Grindelwald factions. The High Master of Durmstrang and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons were not interested in international cooperation or any idiocy sprouted by the Light. They smelled weakness. They believed Hogwarts was weak and decadent, unable to maintain its place in the circle of the Great European schools. High Master Karkaroff in particular, the traitor who had sold so many Death Eater lives to save his own skin, would want to humiliate the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. The two other schools which had manifested an interest, the Scuola Regina of Italy and the Magia Universidad de Cordoba in Spain, had never been noted to manifest deep ties of friendship to the London Ministry either.

To say the 'advisor' of Fudge was not happy when the door opened was a big understatement. Hogwarts attendance had just begun to increase again after the losses of the last war; the last thing they needed was to kill their best and brightest because Dumbledore had had a mad thought and none of his minions had dared contradict him. Not to mention that a significant defeat in the Tournament would be a signal to everyone that Britain was easy prey.

"Ah, Ludovic Bagman." To his credit, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports understood very quickly how badly he had erred when he saw the opened folder. "I believe you have neglected to tell a few minor things to the Wizengamot." The alarmed expression on Bagman's visage told him the former Beater was definitely not been supposed to let him see their Triwizard projects this year.

* * *

 **29 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland**

There were places at Hogwarts where wizards and witches just didn't walk in without invitation if they valued their stay inside the school. The office of Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore firmly belonged in this category and unless a student was dumber than a stone, he was aware of it.

There were other places however that were best avoided if you had no invitation, but which location's discovery demanded far more efforts and investigation. The secret lair of the Weasley Twins was such a place.

Finding it was not easy. Filch was always trying to discover where the Twin Terrors planned their devastating pranks, and as such its location changed every month or so. The caretaker was persistent like in many things...well, he was an idiot too. Filch had no magic at his disposal and Fred and George used multiple traps to protect their secrets. At best, these hilarious defences gave them enough time to empty the room and flee before the unclean and horrid man arrived. At worst –worse for Filch that is – the attacking party would emerge from the incident with a great number of tentacles and a barely human appearance.

For this reason and plenty of others, the only student able to claim he was regularly invited inside by the pranksters-in-chiefs (Neville Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio had not yet managed to usurp the title) was Lee Jordan. Other Gryffindors regularly frequented the place – she had heard from Hermione how there were some clues in the Gryffindor Common Room to find it – but in general you had to know very well the labyrinth of Hogwarts corridors and hope luck was with you. Or you could ask for an invitation, but it was at your own risk and peril. The Weasley twins did not like wasting time they could have used for their prank research and more than one boy or girl had left looking like a monster after serving as lab rat.

Alexandra could admit freely she had not entered a Weasley lair before today. When she had paid for the services of Fred and George to bring Tisiphone inside the castle in secret, she had met them once in person and it was in an abandoned classroom. By the laws of the Hogwarts rumour mill, anyone who met Fred and George in the location they had chosen for their headquarters would probably be known tonight by the inhabitants of Gryffindor Tower. It was attracting too much attention. That said, the 'invitation' she had received by a brown owl had been phrased more as a summoning and refusing would lead to prank consequences. Better to not delay the unavoidable.

"You don't respect the proper procedures to handle Potions." It was the first thing the Potter Heiress managed to utter when she closed the door of the secret room after avoiding an amusing magical wire which would force her to speak for three hours in riddles.

What had been an abandoned classroom was completely unrecognisable. There were...things...everywhere! Nearly forty cauldrons were boiling with different potion recipes. Mini-fireworks were exploding in brilliant flashes. Animals were transforming themselves into sweets before reverting to an animal form. There was metal and carpets covered in runes brimming with magical power. Brooms and diverse housecleaning charms were surrounded by shields or danced in strange rhythms. The atmosphere was full of smoke, sparks, incantations, and weird odours. It was sheer chaos.

"Ah, Forge, the Exiled Queen is gracing our humble selves of her terrible presence!"

One of the Weasley Twins – maybe George – appeared from nowhere and threw a pinch of a red substance Alexandra didn't recognise in the second cauldron to her left. For a second a fire column mounted from the potion.

"Right you are, my dear brother."

The second twin came out of a tent that hadn't been there a moment before. As usual, there was no way to know who was who. They were covered in the dust, ashes and diverse results of their chaotic experiments. Professor Snape and the rest of the Professors would certainly have a heart stroke if they knew what the two terrible pranksters spent their free time on.

"Of course, I am George."

"I thought you were George for the day."

"No that was yesterday. Today, I am Fred."

The disturbing banter was so rapid and so disturbing Alexandra preferred ignoring it for the moment and instead watched the closest cauldron. It was a faint shade of blue and had a smell of rose...minute, had not Whitehead spoke of this Potion in February? It was a general antidote and counter to body alterations, the Olympian Elixir. But it should not be here in this room, at least not brewed to perfection. This was a very advanced Potion, at the very limit between OWL-levels and sixth year. Fred and George were at the bottom of their classes in fourth year. In theory, it should be beyond their ability to brew.

 _They are really underplaying their skills, aren't they_?

The second-year witch stopped watching the blue surface when Fred and George stopped talking between themselves. It was the right twin – he might be Fred - who spoke first. Since their faces looked so serious – an expression almost illogical for the twins – the subject was going to be grave. Fred or George didn't disappoint.

"Dumbledore told us he had done the necessary for Ginny to be okay. As long as she never participates in another blood ritual, there will be no lasting consequences for what happened during this year. Do you agree?"

The last words were pressing and urgent...close to begging in truth. If it had been Longbottom or one of his associates, Alexandra would have lied shamelessly. But the Twins didn't deserve this. They had gone to the Chamber with her and they had not criticised the lethal measures she had been forced to take.

"No," the Ravenclaw girl answered coldly. "Ginny was the puppet of Riddle for several months and subjected to rituals so dark most of the families practising the Dark Arts would never dare use them like the Heir did."

"Dumbledore said he used a combination of Alchemy and Legilimency..."

The very unconvinced tone of the left twin made them rise up in her mind. Unlike the Boy-Who-Lived and dozens of students, Fred and George had not swallowed the Headmaster reassurances. Not when the life and sanity of their little sister was at stake.

"Dumbledore can say what he wants; it will not change the facts." Lyre, Nigel, and Morag had been totally horrified by the rituals used by the young Voldemort. Apparently no matter the background, there were rituals which should never be done, no matter the circumstances or the political justifications. "Your sister's magic has been attuned to darkness, her blood has been changed to reflect her Yaxley inheritance, and she has, for all intents and purposes, a Death Eater-in-training inside her head."

The first was not too problematic; plenty of Ancient or Noble Houses had it. If you did not cast dark-oriented magic, you were likely to be fine. The second was...arduous. Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys currently studying at Hogwarts had Yaxley blood in their veins. Not a lot – their great-grandmother on the paternal side had been Lysandra Yaxley – but it had been enough for the blood rituals. She had no idea what sort of nightmare it would have caused in politics if a blood-identification had refused to identify her as a Weasley, but it surely wouldn't have been 'good'. And the personality of Scylla...Alexandra had no idea how to deal with that. Morag and the rest of the Exiled were similarly at a loss. Riddle had gone into domains of magic wizards and witches did not go and for good reasons.

"What's your advice?" The question was asked as a cauldron erupted in violet bubbles which indicated nothing good.

"Your sister must not participate in any ritual for the rest of her life, period." This was the outcome of their little debate during their first war council. "Minor or major, Old Powers, Light or Dark, Solstice or Samhain, no ritual. The risk is too great." For the students of Hogwarts, who would have to face a girl not reluctant at all to massacre them. For her, as she had been the one to kill Tom Riddle. For Ginny, who certainly would not survive the experience and recover control of her body in the end. "I would also avoid all disciplines having links to the Mind Arts like Occlumency or Legilimency. If you see her doing something susceptible to break whatever the Headmaster has done, stop her."

"That's going to be difficult. Ginny is not stupid...and she is not powerless." The two twins continued to complete their own sentences, a style which brought a smile back to her lips.

"No she isn't." Life would far simpler if the youngest Weasley was at the level of intelligence of Crabbe and Goyle. Power-wise, Ginny may be more powerful than Alexandra. She was the seventh child of a seventh child, born from two 'blood-traitors' pure-blood lines unwilling to marry their cousins for the joy of it and thus avoided the inbreeding and insanity problems. With a bit of help from Riddle, the possessed Ginny Weasley had aced her entire first year with remarkable scores, leaving Lyre in very distant second place. It perhaps explained why the young version of Voldemort had chosen to corrupt her rather than kill her. "But it's her life at stake."

Alexandra had thought she would see resignation or sadness in Fred and George's eyes. The expressions she received were instead empowered with defiance. Like the moments where older years told the Twin Terrors they would never be crazy or skilled enough to unleash a particular prank against Slytherin House.

"Is there no way to avoid it? What Dark blood rituals did, Light powers can-"

"No!"Alexandra shouted by reflex. After a few seconds where she realised how loud she had screamed, she continued in a more clinical tone. "I'm really sorry but the rituals you speak of are incredibly dangerous and simply studying the one you seek would send you straight you to Azkaban. Please don't go this way. There is no guarantee the final result will help your sister...and the Ministry will arrest you if they have proof. Light and Dark rituals practitioners must face the same consequences."

Azkaban, if they were lucky.

"Fine, fine, we won't do it." Gryffindors were truly horrible liars. Perhaps it was why they had no self-preservation instincts? There was no contrition or renouncement in their behaviour. There was no sign they had changed their minds. Too bad, Alexandra liked the Twins...but she wouldn't intervene if things went to hell. Wielding Fragarach and killing two Basilisks had already raised the suspicion of the authorities and she was the Champion of the Morrigan. "Thanks for your help."

"It was my pleasure." A mini-dragon exploded out of a firework in the back of the room and George – or Fred – ran out to deal with it. The visit had given her many ideas. Maybe she could convince Morag to brew some Potions once or twice per week? With the proper security measures, they would improve their Potions skills and have a supply on hand when the school situation became uncontrollable. "Have a nice day."

It took her ten minutes after evading the dozens of traps and pranks guarding the approaches to the secret laboratory to notice the pranksters had turned her hair a livid blue colour.

* * *

 **30 April 1993, Geneva, Switzerland**

The main ICW courtroom had many common points with the chambers of the Wizengamot these days. It was richly decorated and ostentatious. It was noisy. It was full of squabbling children, unable to see how self-interested and petty they were. The ICW was the greatest magical organisation of the wizard and witches. It should have been a model of international cooperation and friendships between the different Ministries.

At the moment, it was anything but. Under white and gold banners, the different representatives were nominating their candidates to choose who would replace him at the post of Supreme Mugwump. They were in the second hour of sessions, and there were already twenty-eight candidates. In all likelihood, the debates and the votes were going to take the rest of the month of May.

Frankly, Albus Dumbledore thought he could have gone to wait in one of the auxiliary rooms where less important motions were vigorously debated. The reintegration of these American troublemakers was one, but it was the reform of the classification for extremely dangerous creatures sponsored by the Greek Ministry that he had a deep interest to banish into non-existence. If they arrived to their end, Basilisks would be recognised as on par with the most dangerous creatures like the hydras as 'legendary creatures' in the six-X category. The fines and questions for Britain and Hogwarts would be...damaging. But he had told his contact to meet him here and given the usual crowd in the alleys accessible to the public, it was not a good idea to go gallivanting elsewhere as they would never find each other.

In the mean time, the Transylvanian senior delegate took his place on the spokesman' seat and began to recite a short speech exhorting the values his country: resistance and sheer stubbornness. The eastern allies of Transylvania - mainly consisting in the Bulgarian representatives - applauded, but the answer was far more muted in the rest of the assembly. Transylvania was infamous in the world for its long alliance with several extremely dangerous vampire covens. That they had fought bravely and viciously against Grindelwald was practically the only reason they were as tolerated and respected as they were these last decades. But elevating one of their own as Supreme Mugwump? That seemed a bit too ambitious for them...

"My Lord?"

Albus diverted his attention aside from the depressing spectacle of narrow-minded politicians fighting for their non-existent values and smiled at the middle-aged witch who had just called him. Violet Pettus was brown-haired and blue-eyed, and a loyal ally. She had been one of his ICW subordinates before his dismissal but still held a post in the Department of International Cooperation, despite Malfoy best efforts to purge all his allies from the jobs they deserved. Since, she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Violet had been aware of his plans concerning the Tournament and the different competitions he proposed to champion.

"Ah, Violet," The Defeater of Grindelwald didn't feel inclined to a large smile, but he did it anyway to reassure his agent. The Pettus witch was loyal to his cause, a true Hufflepuff to the core, and such loyalty deserved to be rewarded. "I trust your mission was successful?"

"It was, my Lord," replied Violet, giving him a large red folder. "Malfoy tried to block our plans, but Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Scuola Regina have given their accord for an international tournament between the greatest schools of Europe. The preliminary talks will begin in July. The Spanish of Cordoba are divided for the moment... Headmaster Gama is favourable but his Ministry is not and they don't have Hogwarts' autonomy."

"Regrettable, but not unexpected," The Chief Warlock whispered. If he had free choice, he would largely prefer hosting a Tournament with the Spanish of Cordoba than the Dark-aligned students of Durmstrang. He didn't like Karkaroff, and he enjoyed even less the brutal education doctrine the Institute had been using for many generations. The northern magical school was routinely 'teaching' – if one wanted to be generous – by doing the equivalent of throwing the students in a pool of sharks. Gellert had explained to him the system in vivid details decades ago. The best students were awarded the advices and tutoring of their Professors, the best group projects and their private training rooms. Those who struggled were beaten, forced to endure cruel punishments or outright expelled when their marks fell too low. It was anything but a calm environment to learn in and it produced Dark wizards by the dozens each year. But Durmstrang had on average a population of a thousand wizards per year, the double of Hogwarts and the triple of the Magia Universidad, welcoming students from Scandinavia, Germany, Russia, and generally every Ministry from Eastern Europe. Or rather they welcomed the wealthy pure-bloods and the very influential half-bloods. Blood status was the first gate of selection for Durmstrang. "And our suggestion to host the Tournament at Hogwarts?"

The forty-year old witch winced and Albus knew it was there they were going to meet the real hurdles.

"All of them are completely against, my Lord," said Violet, holding her hands in a saddened posture. "Beauxbatons and the French have told us that by the historical rules, it is their turn to host the Tournament. The Italians want the honour for their first participation since the seventeenth century. And Durmstrang wants to beat us in front of their castle..."

How delightful, and he couldn't even play the 'Supreme Mugwump' card anymore. Moreover, the parasite named Lucius Malfoy was no doubt going to whisper in the ears of the Wizengamot how international meetings were just a source of trouble. They didn't want to understand that division would be their downfall when Voldemort came back. They weren't willing to set ancient grudges aside and cooperate against the greater threat. He had a feeling it would take all his diplomacy skills to make them accept the correct choice ultimately.

"Don't worry, my dear. Their lack of cohesion offers us plenty of opportunities..."

* * *

 **31 April 1993, Gringotts Bank, London, England**

There was human vengeance and there was goblin vengeance. For those wand-wielders unable to understand the difference, Senior Accountant Grimjaw was only happy to explain. A wizard tried to kill his enemies with magic and words, beginning with enemies who couldn't correctly defend themselves and fleeing when they were unable to defeat their enemies. A proud goblin fought to the end, burying his enemies in a sea of blood and paperwork, taking mercilessly the gold of his opponents, eradicating clans and lines.

When a goblin waged war, he did it with his heart and his body totally committed to it. Either he won or he died, but either way a warrior would feel no shame when his corpse would be cremated in a grand ceremony by the dragon fire.

This was the ancient custom as dictated by the glorious ancestors who had followed Mordred at the Battle of Camlann and it had served Gringotts and its holdings well for centuries. The goblins had emerged victorious over the wand-wielders in six out of seven wars on the soil of the British Isles, finally taking total control of their economy and banking system by the end of the nineteenth century. How the pathetic Ministers had managed to convince themselves they were victorious in these 'goblin rebellions' Grimjaw had no idea. Goblin territory was sovereign territory and they controlled the flow of gold. Gringotts ruled the British wizard economy and had large shares in the non-magical one.

Recently, however, it seemed the wizards had chosen to forget that goblin revenge was a serious thing. Minister Fudge and Chief Warlock Dumbledore's actions spoke louder than words, as the old proverb said. Hogwarts and inheritance issues had grown totally out of control. Senior Accountants had died, his friend Toughclaw among them. Grimjaw didn't blame the Potter Heiress from removing the Rosier threat from her list of enemies – he would have done the same thing in her place and her survival was tied with his. You didn't blame your employer and benefactor. On the other hand, he could very well curse the name of those who had allowed the bloody incident in the first place. Aurors, Minister Cornelius Fudge, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, William Rosier and the Death Eaters; those were the factions and the names of those he was going to destroy. That some of them had tried to stop the very lucrative trade of Basilisk parts he had engineered was going to make it all the sweeter.

The first act of his vengeance was going to strike the Ministry with the momentum of an avalanche tomorrow. Carefully and methodically, he had amassed back his power and influence since his client had proved the equal of a legendary goblin warrior and slain the two Basilisks of Salazar Slytherin. Then he had humbly convinced High Executive Goldaxe it was time for a direct application of Article 542 Section 666. It was an obscure rule and Grimjaw did not doubt the wand-wielders had long forgotten it since the treaty in question had been signed in blood.

Basically, it called for the Ministry officials to fill all the forms he was about to send them. Without magic of any kind, they would have to write their replies in triplicate and they had a month to do it before the goblins declared war. Given that the number of forms he had managed to complete with the Potter Heiress and his assistants was near the thousand mark, the Ministry was about to be drowned in a sea of parchment and receive a rather important lesson.

Don't anger a goblin banker.

It was likely it would lead to a renewal of hostilities between the Ministry and Gringotts in the next years. The tensions had been on the rise for the last five years and the narrow-minded views of the wizard authorities made things more difficult every year. When one added the detestable massacres of the 'Exchequer' in the last months, it was not a question of if a war was going to be fought. It was a question of when, where, and with whose allies.

Too bad Fudge and his administration had been busy angering the rest of the species they were supposed to coexist with. Vampires, skinchangers like the werewolves, centaurs...they would all support a good opportunity to bloody their claws in wizard's blood. It would be a good skirmish before sending troops to their cousins on the continent...

Someone knocked at his door, interrupting his thoughts of battle, glory, and vengeance.

"Enter!" He barked.

The heavy door opened to let pass a young goblin with the clothes of a very junior messenger. In his hands was a roll of parchment he placed on Grimjaw's desk after bowing profusely.

"The information you requested from the wand-wielder sources, Senior Accountant."

"Your service was quick and efficient," he thanked his subordinate before dismissing him from the room. The door of his office closed with a loud crack and the old goblin began to read the document he had just been handed. It did not take a long time: the content was limited to a list of names.

The Ministry in its unbearable slowness and incompetence had not yet decided when the guardianship of Heiress Alexandra Potter would be decided, but the time to depose the applications was over. There had been dozens of demands, of course. The Basilisk incident had been too spectacular for it to be otherwise. The Wizengamot administrative services had evidently made a first selection beforehand, because there were only eight names left.

 _Lord Sirius Black_

 _Lord Weston Bulstrode_

 _Maurice Flint_

 _Lord Glenn MacDougal_

 _Lady Narcissa Malfoy_

 _Lord Liam McLaggen_

 _Andromeda Tonks_

 _Lady Stella Zabini_

The former godfather was completely unsuitable for Grimjaw's plans and ambitions...House Potter vaults had too often been forced to fund the Order of the Phoenix. The rest of the names he would have to investigate on his own, but the Senior Accountant was optimistic. None of them were Albus Dumbledore...they could all be removed by the Heiress herself if they proved unsuitable.

Grimjaw smiled widely, a scary image for non-goblin eyes. Too long he had feared to die in a bed or be executed when House Potter finally met its end. But recent events had proved this was unlikely to happen.

A time of reckoning was coming...and Grimjaw would wait for it with a large halberd in hand.


End file.
